I have L hearts N written on my hand. I blink blankly whenever someone asks me who N is. "He's foreign," I say, and leave it be. I spray my pillows every night with plumeria pillow spray. It brings to my mind memories that are not mine. Memories of white stone palaces in the middle of deserts, where slippered feet thud softly along silent, wide corridors, golden tapestries with intricate letters, the proud toss of a silky black mane, the flash of a feline pair of eyes and smooth, delicious blackness of the mind and body and soul. I walked today. I would have walked far far away and never to return if Jake pulling at his leash and whining did not deter me from walking into the forest forever. I got out of bed and I walked for a long long time in the night and I gathered strength from the stars. Is that a ghost mommy?No. Not a ghost. Just Lili in her nightgown, walking on the golf course in her bare feet and a dog leash in her hand, dew settling like beads of the most fine jewelry on her braided hair and her shoulders. Her eyes far away and enegmatic, reflecting you and me and everything that was and will forever be. No, not a ghost, son. Just a little girl lost. The stars are dying. Turn off your lights because you're killing the stars, and God knows they help me survive.