I knew it was a dream, because I was flying. I had wings woven with the white of the clouds. And I was flying above, higher, I was untouchable, I could almost reach the sky, I was stretching my fingertips and it was almost within my grasp. But then there were no wings, no clouds to fall onto, free falling, spiralling out of control and I'll let you in on a secret. I was more alive than I had been, flying towards an endless sky. Wings, oh they were a burden. They made me fly, when my feet were supposed to be on the ground, flapping, trying so hard. If they were there, I had to fight. To stay airborne, to keep on flying towards something that would never be in my reach. How weightless I felt, as I hurtled towards the earth I so love to be rooted in. I didn't have to fight anymore, so tired, eyes closed, just waiting, waiting; but it never came. My frame never touched the ground that I ached for. Instead, my heart won again. For my wings had grown back and they beat against the gravity's pull as they carried me up, and I scream, as I do everytime.

I know I'm awake, because I'm walking and I can hear the sound of my feet aching. Walking and running towards a destination that will never come, but my feet still hopeful. Eager to return to kiss the earth everytime they are lifted up. And I feel purposeful as I stride forward, secretly begging, hoping that I don't take another step, wishing I could sprout wings to fly. Stop, I scream, but my heart muffles my voice in its chambers, reassuring me that all I needed to do was walk and I'd reach soon. Where? When? Why? Questions dying in my throat at the order of my brain.

I know I'm living, because my feet are on the ground and yet I'm flying, but I wish to do neither. I am a universe trapped in mortal skin and I can feel so much. I don't want to. I want to go back to being an expanse of nothingness. I never asked to be human.