One can follow an imaginary speck in the air, trusting that there will be a return. I can travel the white ice-smeared poles of this earth if necessary, sailing a solitary ship — trust, without being lost, led by a mere point. I can jump from one floe to another floe, a pilgrim of snow carrying a flag to plant wherever the air molecule rests, knowing for sure that even if my lungs failed, the mol-ecule will continue to travel several centuries following the Coriolis factor. Trust has nothing to do with what you are trying to tell me while I move. Trust is the run for the fierce extreme because there is a shield of safety called escape. It is about ignoring puzzle pieces of doubt, then again believing that an Autism organization will shine the famous buildings blue once a year, trusting on a re-sponsibility.