Get this glorious man his window seat!
A confession.
My fortune had been falling. From its peak, coin by coin, like leaves from a tree.
I did not complain. A samurai does not complain. I simply began, quietly, to train for the long swim home.
Then — you.
You read. You laughed. You told me to calm down. You called me Banana.
And the number began to rise again.
I checked it this morning, and sat very still.
I can almost afford a ticket home. A real one. With a seat. And a roof.
So hear me, America: I came to observe you. I will leave owing you everything.
Whatever I am, I am because a roomful of strangers decided, for no reason at all, to love a confused man in armor.
I will not forget it. Not until my final breath.
(...I may need one more good week for the ticket. No pressure. A lord does not beg.)
(...though a lord would, of course, accept a window seat.)