This place requires no exit strategy. Hanging off the trapeze is like being cradled by something that gives your nerves a lush and stellar kind of comfort. Everything you need is inside these curves. But the clouds inch toward you, hold a blade to your god—and you are the one twisting the knife. You become a cocoon who in its mind, grew its wings and colours last winter. So you want out, you want more than green and now, but there’s no garden in freedom. Only freedom. Relax, you were already on the way to the exit the moment you arrived.