I am an angel freed from stone, designed by tragedy, and carved by a blade with the metallic sheen of determination. Wading in my passion like a river sometimes gentle, sometimes not. Holding on with only my fingertips to a tree branch through the raging uncertainty of my necessary evils. How I long to let go. How I long to be free. To let the ever pressing current take me beyond this current situation we call reality, and into an ever present existence where I am no more than an illuminant spec in the boundless wind. It is here, I hear your voice as clairvoyant as the restless vibrations chanting against my skin, "Hold on Ryan, Hold on."