Flight.

What doesn't kill me, makes me stronger.

What does kill me, makes me feel alive.

If flying really does mean dying,

Why not die and fly away with time?

Spend eternities soaring

In flight?

Free of bonds,

Of people,

And talk;

Unnoticed, yet alive.

Alive, for the first time,

After life, and after death.

Alive, in the skies,

Flying alongside the birds,

Feeling the wind

And the breeze,

Playing in air,

Unaffected by ties

That bound us,

Pull us back,

And make us see flight

Meant for just birds.

Meant for just things with wings,

Unaware of the wings

And power within,

That only shows up,

When you truly fly away.

I want that flight,

Forever and ever,

With no looking back,

And to feel the wind

Gently play with my hair,

Free to move,

Without the boundations

Of life.