For some of us, there is a solitary path, assigned at birth. We live our childhood in books, our adolescence in film, and arrive at adulthood by chance, not seasoned or steeped in reality as our contemporaries, merely having reached the age to stand alongside them. We live in dreams.

We will never truly connect to others, not in the usual way. Yet we long to, for we are only human. And so we turn to the canvas, the blank page, the keyboard, the unmolded clay, and begin our work.