(no subject)
We all dream of flying. We dream of it in different ways and settings but we must remember that we all dream in black and white.
We dream of flying as we fall head first out of a building, eyes closed, half smiling lips, as we wait for the sound of bones crushed under our weight when we finally hit the pavement.
We dream of flying our own Peter Pan flight, light and ageless and carefree.
We dream of flying like the countless balloons we cried for during birthday parties, those we held on to tightly, the strings wrapped around wrist.
We dream of flying like those damn birds so we could spend an entire day dangling on telephone and electricity wires atop the city.
We dream of flying like airplanes who confuse departures for arrivals and who are mindless of all those come and leave us.
We dream of flying like dusts in the air, those who dance in our open window at morning, scattered around the light shining through it.