Escape

Nobody ever tells you what it feels like to escape. Sure, writers describe it, screen actors fake it, and the rest of Hollywood and the entertainment world try to approximate it with crecendos and soft tones. Still, for me, nobody ever told me how it feels.

It's like disappearing.

One moment you're there and you matter. According to the cosmos, you're the most important being in the universe. Everyone and everything has conspired to bring you down, hold you tight, and trip you up. Everything is focused on you. Then, for that one moment after you escape—you stop existing.

It's all relative, I'm sure. And a bit disorienting. A little after a lot feels like nothing at all. And even though I'm sure I was still alive and breathing. it sure as hell feels like nothing to me.

Escaping ends up being terribly anticlimactic. Especially when you put so much effort into it, not being praised feels so depressing. There are no fanfares, no trumpets or kettle drums. Those come later. After this one slight moment.