I’m fascinated by the concept that our freedom lies in space.

Not as in another galaxy in space, but rather the space between a stimulus—a word spoken to help or hurt, a punch thrown to protect or punish, a kiss planted to betroth or betray—and our response.

Now, space is really nothing more than a dot, a hollow dot. A pregnant, transparent pause. That space (or dot) may occupy a heartbeat or a fortnight, a lunchtime or a lifetime. This got me thinking that perhaps: