You think you want to know her, but it’s better if you don’t. It’s better if she doesn’t tell you how she lit the wrong end of a cigarette once when she was drunk. It’s better if you don’t know all the indecent things she got up to in her youth. It’s better if you don’t see the scars, don’t attempt to imagine her pain, and don’t try to look beyond her smile.

She wants you to see the good things, but she’s worried she’ll run out. There aren’t enough Cinderella moments in life, she won’t always be wearing a midnight blue dress and those pastel heels with flowers on top. You notice how she spends more time looking down at her glass than looking into your eyes, because wine never lies. Even in daylight you should not pretend to know her.

You see the faint edges of her tattoo…