I hang my wrist from balcony rail, tapping silently while I sway. Clear skies and not a cloud in sight. I'm playing a song by Stromae, Tous Les Mêmes, blurring my vision to make the Earth like starry-night, feeding my whims of independence and glamour days from now. I'm a creature, freed, filled with memories of ecstasy and enchantment, breathing in darkness, breathing out gold dust. I can't sing into the night but I still remember how it feels.