I don't understand it. I constantly claim that when death comes, I'll embrace it. Yet as I essentially float in the sky, my mind is grasped by such fear. A fear of falling? A fear of... nothing? What other fear could really exist in that situation, other than a fear of death. Held in that momentary stand-still, my mind is plagued with visions of rushing wind, and a silent scream. Into silence. But the moment passes, and my descent begins. And almost instantly I'm enveloped in the feeling, of flying.
My desires are many and the range varies, from being carried away in the emptiness of the sea, to soaring on the wings of eagles, to put the terms in the most symbolic sense.
I don't completely understand why I suddenly found this momentary love for flight? If it could even be called that. But regardless, it just pushes me deeper into the belief that reality simply is not good enough.
But it will have to do for now.
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