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What Flying Feels Like

by Becky Curl 2 years ago in sad poetry
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To propel yourself into the unknown. To trust the breeze to gently place you where it knows you should be. To trust the timing of your own life. To be alive.

What Flying Feels Like
Photo by Safura Syed on Unsplash

The sound of the wind chimes blowing in the breeze.

The way the water twists through the ravine;

running endlessly, without ever looking back.

The sun beaming down on all of the trees.

I close my eyes,

and I am transported to another time.

A better time.

I am brought back to a place where I could stretch my legs in the warm sand, without worrying about the shards of glass that lurked just beneath the surface.

I am brought back to a place where I could watch the sunset over Lake Michigan, without worrying about what happens once the lights go dim.

I can remember waves so tall they crashed all around us, yet I never felt afraid.

I can remember the warmth of a blazing fire and the way we threw our worries into it, watching each one of them burn down into ash.

I remember the tequila being passed around amongst the adults, while we sat silently and observed in awe.

There were giant dunes so tall, they blocked out the sun.

I felt so small.

Yet, I did not feel that I was powerless.

(Where did that strength go?)

Though I could not see what was on the other side of those majestic mountains, I did not feel fear.

For the first time, in a long time, I did not see a mountain as a roadblock;

It was simply just a door I hadn’t opened yet.

For the first time, in a long time, I couldn’t wait to see what was on the other side of the unknown.

Instead of my mind conjuring up one thousand ways this situation could go wrong,

It finally saw all of the ways it could go right.

(Take me back.)

The wind hugged our cheeks as we cascaded down the dunes.

Our long, wild hair was flying out all around us,

and for once, we were unconcerned about it staying nice and neat.

We had thrown “proper” out of the car window on our long, winding drive to that magical place.

And that,

that is what flying feels like.

I’m sure of it.

To propel yourself into the unknown.

To trust the breeze to gently place you where it knows you should be.

To trust the timing of your own life.

To be alive.

Our laughter was unending,

Though our time there was so short.

Why does happiness have to be so fleeting,

while pain carries on for what feels like an eternity?

When I close my eyes, I can feel the waves crashing against my legs.

When I close my eyes, I can feel the warmth of the fire fluttering against my cheeks.

When I close my eyes, I feel so free.

I only wish I knew how to capture that feeling and bring it back with me to reality.

sad poetry

About the author

Becky Curl

Freelance Writer. Freelance Make-Up Artist. Teacher. Wig & Make-Up Designer. Coffee, dogs & pop-punk are my life.

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