X . C I T Y O F R A V E N S
I fly to you drawn by eight ravens. Under my feet grey fades to pink. I had never seen the sun like that. And I may never again before a very long time. I feel a tingling in my legs. Maybe it’s my scar. Maybe it’s the height. Or maybe it’s the doubt creeping into my stomach. I need to eat something. And smoke less.
As always my flight is delayed. I’m more than a year late but I hope you’re not angry. I don’t know you too much but I do know you’re capable of freezing hearts. Luckily I left mine at home. I won’t lie to you: I’m not coming to make friends. I’m coming to drink and live and, from that, write. And sure, if I forget, one of your ravens will remind me that I’m not like the others. That’s how I know we’ll get along fine. Because we’re different. Poor but sexy. You grey. Me blue.
Only you make me be, for the first time, as I’ve always been. So you’ll get to know me pretty quickly. You, however, will always be my dear unknown.
· V I I I ·