I'm A Binge Writer. I Work In

I Wasn't Certain Of Anything Anymore, Except That New Orleans Was A Faithless Friend And I Wanted To Leave Her.

Somehow I Had To Turn The Salted Peanuts In The Cigar Box Into Petits Fours.

My Art Teacher Had Said That If You Breathed Deeply And Imagined Something, You Could Be There. You Could See It, Feel It. During Our Standoffs With The Nkvd, I Learned To Do That. I Clung To My Rusted Dreams During The Times Of Silence. It Was At Gunpoint That I Fell Into Every Hope And Allowed Myself To Wish From The Deepest Part Of My Heart. Komorov Thought He Was Torturing Us. But We Were Escaping Into A Stillness Within Ourselves. We Found Strength There.

I Shut The Bathroom Door And Caught Sight Of My Face In The Mirror. I Had No Idea How Quickly It Was To Change, To Fade. If I Had, I Would Have Stared At My Reflection, Memorizing It. It Was The Last Time I Would Look Into A Real Mirror For More Than A Decade.

You Like Me, Josie Moraine. You Just Don't Know It Yet.