I saw the oil bending in the water under my feet. Reality distorted and tortured trying to cope with all these tiny obstacles along the road to the great escape. I heard of the ocean roaring outside these walls, but it seems unattainable. I heard the billions of voices of the drops lost in each waves, melting and dripping from the jagged rocks. I am going no matter how hard it will get, I am on my way to see the ocean.
“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
There is the map…but I am right in the middle of it. ‘