I often wonder what it feels like to fly. How your arms spread wide to reach the ends of the sky. I would hope the breath is stolen from your lungs and replaced with nothing but bliss. You would gasp to catch it, but there would be nothing to fill it but laughter - laughter out of fear or more, laughter out of awe. And when your palms grazed the clouds some would be hot, others cold, dissolving gracefully between your fingertips.

But would you ever miss being grounded? Miss the grass beneath your bare feet and the sun on your face? Because under it all, isn't that what we want - to be grounded.

We want to breathe. We don't want to gasp for air, because it's easy to fall from that high. It's easy to let yourself not care, let your energy vanish. So isn't that it? Isn't remaining grounded the answer? When you literally can't breathe anymore, when your heart can not do it anymore, you just stop flying?