Before I knew how to escape, I used to run to the cave far inside my mind to protect myself from the captors who tried to harm me.
It was cold and dark and hard as rock, but it was mine and it was a safe place.
It was distant and lonely and might not have been beautiful, but it was my safe place.
My own thoughts would echo against the walls of my little cave.
Sometimes those echoes were shrill and difficult to listen to, but before I learned to escape, I learned to make music.
The longer I would stay in it, the more customized my cave became to fit me.
And now I’ve learned to escape, but a part of me still calls it home.