I believe I fly when I sleep. The moment I slip into unconsciousness I begin to float, my blankets slip off me, my window glides open, and out I soar. Every night I glide weightless and pajama clad above my town. How else am I supposed to explain the state of my hair and sheets each morning? Of course nobody ever sees me. There’s a reason I wear dark blue pajamas. I believe I fly when I sleep.
Well, maybe not. But I do believe that I will fly someday. I don’t mean in a plane, anybody can do that. I will fly though. Mark my words. I’m far too stubborn to stay grounded. I have promised myself I will. The one thing I have wished for my entire life is to be able to fly. Flight is freedom, a perfection of movement uninhibited by such petty limitations as gravity. Someday I will fly. It may not be observable to those around me. But they will know. I will walk into whatever facility at which I am working on a perfectly boring Wednesday morning and my colleges will be able to tell. I am flying. And from the moment I take off I will refuse to land.
Someday, unassisted, I will lift off the ground and soar. Not tomorrow, no time soon, probably not for neigh a decade. But someday I will fly higher then I ever did while I dreamt.
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