The sitting woman

"It's better to forget," I begin. 

"Forget about the whole of my existence before I arrived at Chechyna" I continue determinedly.

I bring a nervous light to my handmade communist cigar as if it were my only solace. 

A deep and calculated breath follows. 

It reverberates through my sitting frame, adding another profound layer of icicles to my frozen heart.

My midnight blue eyes pierce through haughtily at my surrounds of material resplendance. 

Every luxury item is meticulously checked down to the last superfluous detail in our modish apartment. 

My insouciant husband, Dmitri, has given me a sky full of glittering gemstones. 

I want for nothing. 

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