Dont't worry about what happens next. Simply walk through the door, and you'll find all that you once feared has turned itself inside out. I used to be like you. I used to fall into that same trap, but birds don't need restrictions. They need sky. They need air. They need destinations. This isn't makebelieve either. I wore myself out getting here, blistered and cut, scorched and frozen, a little bit pissed off. I've flown over wars, carnivals, traffic jams. My eyes are smaller because of it. You came out of that room and you were terrified, but then it all went away. I came at you like you knew it was about to happen, the fury and finesse pulling itself out of the moment and into our convergence. Birds don't belong indoors, but I wasn't a bird anyway, just a flicker. Then you knew. It wasn't really over particularly, just a rought start. You continued walking but you were already laid out on the floor.
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