* Paris, France: May, 2010
I've taken flight. Turned enemies to friends and have seen buildings grin. The digits I look down to have fallen off and regrown. Twice. Soles are no longer made of skin, but cobblestone. Some fears have grown stronger, some habits changed. A family thousands of miles away lent me a key to their home. They've settled within a section of my chest. That ledge I used to stand on, afraid to lift a wing, has shifted out of the frame. Bring on the the open seas, I've learned a few things. These digits will regrow. See you in the Baltic, I've got an e.t.a to honor.
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