inner demons
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The woman in Jackson Square told me I had brought someone with me. I smiled. Of course I had. He had been with me for years. New Orleans was sweating through midnight, all perfume and rot beneath the balconies. Rain still glistened between the bricks. Somewhere down Chartres Street, a trumpet was playing something slow…
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He didn’t expect the conversation to happen in his kitchen. Not the clean version of his kitchen either. The real one. Sink full of dishes. Half a protein shake growing its own ecosystem. And a chair that had become a permanent resident of unfolded laundry. That’s where his demon showed up. Sat across from him…
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They did not notice the moment she learned how to take. That is always how it begins. For years she was a vessel. A quiet thing. A body that absorbed moods the way stone absorbs heat. People leaned into her presence and left lighter, never asking where the weight went. They mistook her stillness for…
