When I dream,
I dream of flying.
Not of falling,
but of soaring.
I leave the ground behind,
and reach up
to touch the clouds,
floating high in the sky.
They say they're made of water,
yet when I touch them, I stay dry.
I ascend,
so that I am surrounded
on all sides
by clouds.
Then I break through,
and see the sun.
It is blinding,
and I have to look away.
I feel its warmth
envelop me in a hug,
spill over my skin,
and fill me with life.
I wish I could stay here forever,
and never leave,
but the dream ends,
and I wake up.
I'm not sad, though,
because I can go back
every night,
and soar above the clouds.
When I dream,
I dream of flying.
