As a young adult, I lost my connection to the pen for a while. My writing was academic and practical, with no ink left for self-expression.
I can see people for who they are, past their bad decisions and horrible mistakes. And even after all this pain, I don’t want it any other way.
You cannot take the night from me, I tell them with my eyes, the doorways and the blinking neon. You cannot take my steps. Do you not know that I am my own escort?