Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.

Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me

Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky.

Words have longer lives than people.

Chance. It weaves through our lives like a golden thread, sometimes knotting, tangling, and breaking along the way. Loose threads are left hanging, but the in and out, the back and forth continues, the weaving goes on. It doesn't stop.

When is a cell finally too small to hold our essence?