She though she was flying. For a brief moment, she has left the ground behind. Her body is weightless, her arms open, her head surrendered to the sky. She seems free. But she is not alone. Two hands hold her. At first, they appear to be there to support her, to keep her from falling, to give her the freedom to let go. But the longer we look, the harder it becomes to tell where support ends and restraint begins. Perhaps we all need someone to hold us sometimes. Someone who gives us the courage to rise, to surrender, to become weightless. But dependence can be complicated. The hands that protect us can also become the hands that keep us from leaving. What feels like safety can slowly become a cage. What begins as support can become something we are afraid to live without. And so she remains suspended, somewhere between falling and flying, between being held and being held back. Perhaps freedom is not the absence of hands. Perhaps freedom is knowing that the hands holding you are there because you choose them to be, and knowing that, when the time comes, you can let go.