New Orleans Can Have My Bones

I've spent the past few nights dreaming of the streets of New Orleans, again. The smell of chicory and beignets. The sounds of music in the streets.

I sleepily recall Jackson Square at 6AM. It was in that moment, as I over looked the river, that I knew I never wanted to leave. That place pulls at my heart strings, grasps at my soul and settles into my bones.

I remember walking through every corner of that parish, in search of missing pieces, and every time I leave another piece of my soul gets taken away from me.

Dear New Orleans, you can have my bones.