I always have this nightmare
where I’m tumbling down a hill,
rolling faster, picking up speed…
until I’m catapulted off a cliff
into a deep ravine.

In my dream, I wake up gasping
before I can find out
what is at the bottom.

Maybe there are piles of sharp rocks,
glass, needles...

Or maybe there’s a cool river,
plenty of beautiful trees and flowers,
or a soft bed of cotton.

My point is…
maybe it isn’t a nightmare.
It could be a dream.

I know there’s a difference
between falling and flying,
but I don't think I was born
with the ability to tell which is which.

Maybe one day I’ll learn
to let the tide take me away,
to let the ocean take control,
to lose touch with the Earth
without feeling like she’s sitting on my chest.

I hope one day,
I can feel the joy of flying
without feeling the panic of falling.