I have tread over vast lands and see tan tenements lining the roads that seem to never end, and always wind. The grass is greener, vibrancy I’ve yet to match with any foliage I’ve walked upon or across. There’s a breeze that seems to be carrying me forward into this city, a city I see appears to work in perfect order, but with more than a breeze of touch, but a breeze within their minds. The people stare at me, dumbfounded by my awe- they must know I am not of them. Perhaps it is my clothing that bears my foreign hood; my clothing drapes over me with a lack of subtlety and precision these people exhibit. Or perhaps it is my bags that give notice of my arrival by plane, that I am not a permanent-inquisitive mind, but a bird observing and leaving.

These people do not care for me, but I care for them. They walk in a delusional state to the realities of the world; they do not care for knowledge of others, but knowledge only of themselves. I will not mistake this for vanity, but merely a respect for fellow walking birds. Is this assimilation I feel? No.

I am not of them, but I desire to be, but conversing has posed a threat. They look at me with widened eyes- a siloed aggression begins to wave upon them as I continuously display my blood. Their disdain for my behavior intrigues me; they void themselves of hiding their emotions, with their eyebrows dancing upon every word that flows to display such micro-aggressions or joyous gazes. I wish to be one with these people, but alas, my feet begin to rise.