I didn't realize it was happening, to be honest. Well, no, I - I guess it's more accurate to say I didn't realize its severity. I didn't understand the speed at which I was launching, the strength with which I was gripping the grocery bags. I didn't notice my knee twisting, my left hand uselessly groping the air.

All I knew was that the stairwell had shifted unexpectedly. Walled frames had somehow scattered across the ceiling. The guardrail snuck behind my back.

There was no strong emotion. No fear, no guilt. No wondering, no regretting, no flashes back or forward. It was as if my spine had sprouted wings searching sky.

Blame it on the new combat boots. Blame it on a tired inner ear. Blame it on some unrelated character flaw. The doctors certainly have.

I care not for scapegoats. All that unintelligible bleating. There's reason in compassion.

Can you blame a pair of eager feet so passionate for flight? For months and months they've stayed quite still. They've even been denied.

So far I've learned to sit and stand, still one day I'll learn how to land.