She wore her dream on the outside, bare, for him to see. His eyes caught her’s, forcing her to look away–embarrassed. A few moments later that feeling of shame subsided, leaving the raw-dry bony sensation of frustration in its place. She did not want to talk to him. Nor was she hoping he would approach her. She just wanted to dream a little longer. Five more minutes of this glorious what-if she knew could never be. To pretend she was not a good thirty years older than him, that she was not married happily.