There are moments which are made up of too much stuff for them to be lived at the time they occur.

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy, by John le Carré

Every straight line, our geometry teachers tell us, is actually a curve; likewise, we learn that life’s voyage knows no truly straight lines.  Readers, writers, prisoners, spies — we are travelers all, no matter our role.  Our courses diverge from those charted, and our destinations rarely are where we intended, or where we hoped.  Each life’s arc in the universe may be long or short but it bends, then bends again, toward what we know not.

And always — to survive, to maintain our pride, to protect others — we conceal.  Always, we conceal.