I heard once that the soul is like a city. Every emotion lives there, and has its own address. And emotions feel emotion and so on and so forth.

That every single person has a soul, and would caress a wounded animal, or have patience with the sick, or fly in the sky if it helped a small child.

If that's so, why do I feel trapped? I speak, but I can't talk. I move, but I'm not free. I have feelings, but can't seem to show them.

I want to run. And scream. And laugh maniacally until the sky turns dark and clusters of white flaming stars shine down and upon the sight that is me.

So what will I do?

I will tell my story.

That story is me.

I begin the day I found the person who could free me.

My name is Liz, and one day, I talked for the first time.





What am I supposed to say,

If I don't know the answer.

What am I supposed to do,

When I don't know the way.