We were alone in the dark, just the two of us, as the moonlight filtered in. It was just the two of us facing each other in the night, as it had always been. She looked at me reproachingly: "What are you waiting for?" "I'm not ready yet. It's dangerous." The same reply as always, an excuse, a lie. I knew. I knew there was no reason to wait. There had never been. I knew I had wings. I knew I could be free. I knew I could fly across the seas. But that was precisely why I had never done so. There was always tomorrow. Or maybe there wasn't. That would've been fine in its own way. And I kept making excuses until one day a letter arrived. And a few weeks later, the next. And the next and the next, they piled up to a small mountain. And every night, in the dark, the girl dressed in a yellow raincoat and yellow boots would hold them up to show me that the past was catching up to me, telling me that instead of running, I should welcome it as an old friend. And that is how my journey homeward began.