In a fledgling attempt at artistry, Lia began to write a journal about Ryan’s disappearance. At first, she penned insipid letters addressed to no one in particular.
I miss Ryan, I worry about her. I hope she’s okay.
The creation of these stifled missives, though brief, grew laborious. As she read them over, Lia was forced to confront the flat, inexpressive mythology of her letters and figured that if they were to become more interesting, they should be addressed to someone in particular. ‘Dear God’ seemed too formal, distant. Lia wanted to communicate with someone who had a face, and she couldn’t put a face on God. EXENE. Why hadn’t she thought of it right away? Exene would have been the most obvious and appropriate recipient of her epistles. If anyone in the world could understand Lia’s
