The house is waking, footsteps heard above, undoubtedly, and the dawn has even yet to break. Your mouth tastes of the desert. And so now the feathers all fall from your arms, after the long flight during the night, across continents. You almost made it to New Orleans. Briefly you touched down in Kandahar. Three times you circled the entirety of Lisbon. You’ve never been less lost in your life. Not knowing, now, is not exactly not knowing. Let yourself take the leap. See if you can reach the moon, and beyond. Pitter patter, pitter patter.

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