This world is made up of gestures. Hushed dreams and silent intentions. Some believe there is a guiding line forward, but in our chaos do we discover true freedom and the divine pleasure of seeing that which drives us and binds us.

Mork understands the mark left upon their wrists. The thin strings are so very tightly woven in between their fingers. A bit of patience, a whisper of faith...they can even begin to arrange them.

This is not impossible you see. But you need to see. You cannot feel your feelings alone and wipe your hands clean of your humanity. Diligence...patience...we all need to begin somewhere.

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