He Put His Cold Hands On Either

It Will Be As If I'd Never Existed, He'd Promised Me. I Felt The Smooth Wooden Floor Beneath My Knees, And Then The Palms Of My Hands, And Then It Was Pressed Against The Skin Of My Cheek. I Hoped That I Was Fainting, But, To My Disappointment, I Didn't Lose Consciousness. The Waves Of Pain That Had Only Lapped At Me Before Now Reared High Up And Washed Over My Head, Pulling Me Under. I Did Not Resurface.

I Feel Like Reading Really Defined Me As A Writer Because I Lived My Life Outside Of My Own Body For So Much Of My Life And I Loved It. I've Always Been A Reader. I Think Living All Those Stories Served Me To Naturally Take That Next Step To Creating.

Forbidden To Remember, Terrified To Forget; It Was A Hard Line To Walk.

Sometimes, Fact Mixed With Fiction So Thoroughly That, Though No Lies Were Told, It Was Hard To Remember What Was Strictly True.

It Makes Me . . . Anxious . . . To Be Away From You.