Flight

If you could fly, would you?  If that meant you might at times hang half in between, dangling in mid-airs.  Would the loss of the solidity of ground make up for the freedom of flight?  Or would the turbulence of the venture knock one so off balance such that, with wings askew, there is naught but to tumble endlessly.

Down down down.  Clock ticks gone, caught by the friction of the wind of air standing still as you blow on pass.  Pass by, flutter by, down down down.

Whyever not?  Who said life so close to the ground was worth so much, when all one can feel, can see is the grit in front of the in betweens.  Wyverns caverns could not hold raptures enough to awaken from dreams of fully living, but so many do.  The temporariness, the fleeting rush of endorphins, enough for now.  Enough to suffice.

——–

The more we change, the more we stay the same.  Rather I have a better theory about that.  It is only through change that one can determine what are the true bits of one’s self, the core.  After all, how can you tell with so much to take in?  It is through shifting parameters, holding certain constant, and checking what changes to the remaining factors that science came about in the first place.

I did realize a few days ago, perhaps I have always been this way, but I am a pushover.  Not with anything I truly believe in, but I am willing to some degree to acquiesce on most anything.  And I know the reason why I am this way.  The reason why I avoid confrontation, at much cost.  The more we change, the more we see what stays the same.  And at times I do wonder: am I still me?

Or some lizard shedding skin after skin.  Letting others pick off my tail from time to time.  After all I can spare some parts.

If you could pretend to fly, would you?

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