Without roles, without expectations, without calls. Most often, I imagine a forest, silence, the wind rustling the branches. A small wooden house, an old wicker swing on the porch. Inside, there's a kettle on the stove, books on the shelves, and windows through which you can see the sky. There's no rush there. You don't have to be strong there. I just sit, wrap myself in a blanket, and listen to myself. I think about who I am, what I want, where I'm going. Sometimes it's just a few minutes in real life, but they save me. Because sometimes, in order not to break down, you need to be able to run away. Not forever. Just for a moment. To the real me.