Escape... At last... Hold tight to me, as I hold t

At last, it has come to pass. The decision, I find, was easy enough for me, though I dare not guess how it was for him. We are running away from civilization, from everything that binds us to a life of chains and falsehoods. Beneath the looming trees of the Baltic forests, in the forsaken ruins of forgotten villages, in a makeshift barrack of rough-hewn birch and oak, we will begin anew. We shall breathe, as the world does, without the weight of the past to crush our chests.

I flee from evil men, from the dark threads of bloodline and genetic inheritance, from the suffocating web of unhealthy ties. You, my love, flee from arrogance, from the hollow call of money, from the choking grip of addictions that have bruised your soul. No one understands our flight. No one supports it. For our escape, they tell us, is an affront to the holy laws of their world. My biological family, those who once birthed me into this misery, claw at me in their desperate attempts to halt my departure. They would sooner see me in a grave than lose control over their puppet — a marionette they could manipulate to sustain their miserable fantasies, their twisted delusions of reality. These same delusions I once believed to be the only truth, the only way to exist. What they forget, in their dreadful ignorance, is the simple fact that I possess a will — a will of my own, a human right to live, to laugh, to love; to choose whom to laugh with, whom to love, and where to place my heart. And guess what? My heart chooses to love every stranger but them. "Please, I beg of you, let me go! Can't you see that you are killing me from the inside out?" But, of course, these words fall on deaf ears, as they always do.

And then, on the fateful day, my mother — my biological mother, who I had once believed to be the epitome of love — picks up the sharpest, longest knife from the kitchen drawer. She charges at me with a mad fury in her eyes, a frantic desperation to pierce my chest and claim me — not as a daughter, but as a possession. Perhaps, in her broken mind, my lifeless body would fulfill her need for control, for power over a heart that no longer beats for her. But I see her, and I know now, she is not the mother who once cradled me in her arms. She is a demon, a thing possessed by a darkness that has consumed all trace of human love. She is like the others I grew up with, hollowed-out shells of people, with hearts as cold as the stones beneath our feet — black holes that devour the light and let no sunshine in. I see now that there is nothing human left in her.

There are some who claim, with venom in their tongues, that you took me by force, that I was somehow unwilling. Ah, but they do not know the truth. They call you a manipulator, a hypnotist, and they scream at the sky, demanding justice. They threaten you with the law, with media and police, with imprisonment and punishment for the rest of your days. But they do not understand you, as I do. You stand firm, unwavering against their weakness, and this, too, is why I know I have made the right choice — to let you love me.

We laugh at their ignorance. How petty and small their minds must be to concoct such twisted stories! It is truly absurd how far they will go to defend their lies, their hollow truths, their desperate insecurities.

For almost a week, I hide with you, hiding from the chaos that lingers in my family’s house. I have known you for but a month, yet in that brief time, I have never felt so truly close to another human being. It frightens me, this closeness. I wonder if you, too, will turn into a monster, if all of this — this beautiful, tender trust — is nothing more than another nightmare, a dream I will wake from, locked once again in the cages of my past. I wonder if you want something from me in return. But this, I know: I have no choice but to risk it, for the alternative is death.

I wait for things to settle, for the tempest in my old life to subside. I steal my documents, my passport, and hide them in the place that only you and I know — our secret, our sanctuary.

We set sail in the dead of night, on a moonless winter’s eve, when the world is as silent and black as the ink in a well-worn pen. We must leave no trace, no sign for anyone to follow. If there was ever a time to disappear, now is the moment, and I feel my heart surge with resolve. This is it.

The wind howls like a beast, the rain strikes us like a thousand arrows, but I smile, for it is nothing compared to the hell I have already survived. "More obstacles?" the skies laugh, testing my resolve once more. Freedom is never free, and the journey has only just begun. The cold, yellow moonlight bathes our small, fragile boat as it slices through the choppy waves, laden with our meager belongings — a few bags, a little hope, and everything we need to begin again. I cry, not out of fear, but out of joy. These are not tears of sorrow, but of rebirth. The first step of many, and though the road ahead will be difficult, there is no turning back. I must relearn everything — how to live, how to say yes, how to say no, how to choose my own path, to live according to my own desires, without the weight of others' expectations.

I wear a waterproof backpack and simple clothes — a pair of loose harem pants, soft organic cotton underwear, a woolen scarf wrapped tight against the cold, and a sweater, handwoven and full of strange, beautiful patterns. In my pack, I carry the essentials: thick woolen socks, a couple of sets of pajamas, a warm throw blanket, a book of philosophy, a guide to vegetarian cooking, a plush toy bear to keep me warm, and a solar-powered music player with the songs and lectures of all the wisdom I have yet to learn.

We arrive, soaked through, exhausted beyond measure, our muscles aching from the effort of dragging the boat ashore. The bank is steep, full of sharp rocks and overgrown weeds. Yet we push forward, driven by something stronger than fatigue. We find our shelter — a small, humble hut, and we gather wood for the fire. As the flames crackle and warm the cold air, I stand outside and drink from the well, the cool water a balm to my dry lips. And as I kneel, overwhelmed with emotion, I scream to the heavens, "I choose this! I choose to live!"

You stand beside me, your eyes full of pride and love — a love I now know every human deserves. "I will hold tight to your love," I whisper.

"You just hold tight to my hand and never let go," I beg. "Hold tight to me, as I hold tight to you."

And so I do, finally, not because I must, but because I choose to.


TJS 2017