And I escape not physically, but in my thoughts — to where the river, meadows, and old barn are. To where I was 8 years old, and my friend and I caught frogs in a pond. Where the grass is taller than me, and the bees are like the music of summer.
Why do I love these memories so much? Because everything is real there. You don't have to paint your lips or wear masks.
I could have just been a girl. And you know, there's something about those rural days that heals even now.
I imagine walking barefoot through the wheat. Taking a bucket of rainwater and watering the mint under the hut. Sitting on a bench with my grandmother, and we're silent about important things.
Do you have a place where your soul escapes when it's cramped?