• The wind would caress my face; smooth and gentle as the clouds drifting pass. I would feel the coarse bark pressed against my body as the branches held me up. The leaves would sway, whispering to each other and I alone would sit and listen. There would be peace: even if it was for a moment. I had very much grown accustomed to the silence and loneliness, though in my loneliness I did not feel lonely at all. It was strange. As I drifted in and out of work and study, through the corridors of my home and amongst the loud murmuring of the city around me, it was as though there was a mist covering the miniscule details of one’s inner self. It was as though everyone were wearing a mask. I would watch from my perch, as they passed, noticing slight discomforts of those who felt threatened, fearful or hurt. Yet, despite their hesitations they masked such fears, such discomforts and continued on as though nothing had happened. I was glad; glad that I was not such a one who ignored their inner thoughts and instincts. Those, such as I were different and to me, difference was good. So I would sit there, cradled by the trees, high above the falsities of society in my own version of peace. But in the present, the now of now, I face the people.