Perspective. Or rather, tether to this, tether to that. Sailor knots in strings made of smoke.

Perspective and sight, and the unseen..and seeing but not knowing, and knowing but never there. I struggle with that. I have a soft heart and I’m always picking up the print, stretching it out while trying to understand it. In some ways I understand nothing. In some ways, I get it and apply myself to the action of friendship, of love, of being there. The things I deem important, that you cannot compromise. I’m constantly trying to understand my place in things, when the place is partially the struggle…what I’m searching for makes up the bones in my hands. In other words, presence.