I don't feel connected here. Not even to my flock.

Do you know them? Have you seen them? On my first flight, I met my flock. I had purpose. They welcomed me into their roost and made me part of their life. This was comforting. This brought me closer to them than ever before. My feathers against their feathers, my coos, their warmth. We made each other happy. I thought we would be together forever.

These tall buildings. How could my flock adapt so easily to this place? What did these concrete structures offer? The flock spent less and less time in open spaces, but I still tried to lead them elsewhere. I thought it must have been a mistake that they were worried about leaving. I imagined them cooing, "Where is he? Where is he?"

The elders sometimes whisper stories of before. They say humans once brought us here, though none remember why. There's talk of a time when our wings served them, when our presence meant something. The oldest among us speak of a connection, a partnership long forgotten. But the tale changes with each telling - sometimes we were treasured, sometimes merely tolerated. Now humans walk past without seeing us. Their eyes scan over our feathers as if we're a part of the stone and steel. Sometimes I wonder if the stories are true, or just hopeful dreams of a time when we mattered. The humans built this city, but did they build it for us too? Perhaps we'll never know.

Sometimes at night, when the city sleeps, I dream of a place I've never seen but somehow know. An enormous stretch of grass, and water that stretches as far as the eye can see. And us, the flock, free to stretch our wings and forage our food from the earth. My ancestors once lived there, I'm certain of it. This knowledge lives in my bones, in the way my wings yearn to catch certain currents. The others have forgotten, or perhaps they've buried this memory deep within themselves.

Not me. I remained determined. I was strong and smart and I would find my way to those cliffs. My wings grew tired, but over time I learned how to use them to navigate the urban winds, and I could fly higher than others. I was free. Or so I thought.

Sometimes I had to perch and wait and wait. I searched everywhere for those sea cliffs, hoping to find both the flock and our ancestral home, but saw only skyscrapers and city lights. There was nothing familiar. My flock never came. I thought I saw them, but there was nobody I recognised.

I did not want to think about them anymore. They had forgotten our true home and I would forget them, too. I went to parts of the city I had never seen. What wonders had humans built here? No matter how far I travelled, there were always new city blocks to see. I wonder if my flock knew such places existed.

And that's when I first felt it again - an ancient stirring in my blood. A memory of white cliffs where thousands of our kind once gathered. Where the air tasted of salt and possibility. Where we were truly free. Where we belonged.

And I was born again. And I spread my wings to fly. And with time I learned to use the currents of the air as I had used my instincts. And I went searching for those cliffs.

I made it to the edge of the city. I was with my own kind. We covered an area the size of a small park. We were free and happy. I loved flying in circles and circles and circles. But no one here thought about anything but crumbs. Not one of them remembered the cliffs.

I flew so fast that I was free of the city limits. But I quickly discovered how unprepared I was. The open sky felt too vast, too unstructured without the familiar corridors between buildings. My wings, so adept at navigating urban drafts, faltered in the wild currents. I found myself disoriented, searching for landmarks that weren't there.

It's been months now since I left. I have no idea how long exactly. My city-trained instincts proved nearly useless out here. But slowly, day by day, I'm learning. My body remembers things my mind never knew - how to read the position of the sun, how to sense changes in barometric pressure before storms.

Do I truly belong out here? Or am I merely a city bird playing at wilderness? My moments of true connection are still brief, flashes of clarity amidst confusion. And yet, I feel myself changing. My feathers are cleaner, my eyes sharper. I'm not quite wild, not quite tame.