I wish...

I wish I was able to fly. I wish I had giant feathery wings growing out of my lower shoulder blades so I could lift myself off the ground and fly. I tried to move my wings and even though they weren’t there, I knew what it would feel like to move them. I can feel the weight of them on my back, and more often times then not... their absense.

I remember how cool the world looks from up there, in the sky. I smile when I see it, and think not to be free as a bird, but to be free as I once was.

Some times, I have the thought that my wings have been removed. Like I had them once before and someone had gone through with the cruelty to take them away.

How else could I know so well how warm they get and how I would hold them up so they could catch a breeze and provide shade? How else do I remember the difficulties of washing them, the joy of grooming them? Why else would my back be used to carrying something more?

Why else would I miss being able to fly If I have never had wings to lift me off the ground?