What Would It be Like to Fly?

What would it be like to fly?

It would be...interesting if one day, I woke up to find enormous, feathery wings sprouting from my back. Actually, it’d probably be very perplexing and almost unnerving, as it would be an occurrence that I wouldn’t be able to explain. I feel much more comfortable with my feet planted firmly on gravel and grass. Staring at the vastness of the sky now somehow overwhelms me with a feeling of uneasiness that I can’t comprehend. I haven’t been able to understand anything that’s been happening in my life anyways.

Lately, I’ve been staring out my window quite frequently while I’m reading in my bedroom. I catch myself peering out at the clouds sprinkled across the sky, the sun blazing overhead, the houses in my neighborhood all packed tightly together, etc. But something doesn’t feel right the entire time I gaze at the sky; I feel like I’m searching for something in particular, but I don’t know what exactly I’m looking for. I’ve tried covering the windows with curtains, but I always remove them afterwards because I can’t stand not having a constant flow of fresh air coming from outside. I’ve tried ignoring and suppressing this feeling of uneasiness and confusion, but it always returns, suffocating me. I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to deal with this.

My process of thought isn’t even normal. I usually don’t pay much attention to details in my surroundings like this; I just let each day pass by without much thought, now that I think about it. I don’t really have anyone special in my life, not like that matters much to me. I’m a terrible conversationalist, and I’m not usually willing to hold a conversation anyways. People usually talk about insignificant details in their lives, which makes most conversations meaningless for me. I’m much better off not interacting with the world.

Ok, I’m kind of lying, as there is one person that does have a significant impact on my life. Actually, he’s not a human being, but rather a guardian angel. I usually like to refer to him as William, though can you consider an angel as a person with a name? Do angels even have genders? Angels are celestial beings that are supposed to be watching over us from the heavens above. They’re not supposed to be visible, but for some reason, I can see mine.

My guardian angel has been by my side ever since I can remember. I can’t recall a single moment when he hasn’t been in my peripheral vision. It’s actually a little bit aggravating when I need time to be alone and a little creepy since it seems that he never leaves me alone. He’s probably watching me right now, but I’m not going to bother to check.

What’s even more odd about this is that he has an identical appearance to me. That really unnerves me because when I interact with him, I’m constantly reminded of my own appearance. We seem to share the same body stature, black hair, and dark brown eyes. We even both wear glasses, though the frames of his glasses are a little thicker. I’m not even sure if that’s a coincidence or just fate. It’s like staring at a mirror and talking to yourself, though I have grown accustomed to this over the years.

I wouldn’t consider him as someone “special” to me, but he’s certainly helped me in multiple occasions. I remember when I hurt my knee after tripping over a small ledge and the time I witnessed the death of a really precious cat. William comforted me in those times, even though he did hover a few feet away from me. So I do have to thank him for being there when I need it.

He’s also one of the few beings that I can comfortably talk to, which is surprising considering that he isn’t even human. I spend a lot of time talking to him about interests, school, and other topics. Heck, we even watched anime together for some time, though he eventually got bored of it. But when he asks about how I’m feeling, I’m not willing to talk about that. I prefer not to talk openly about my feelings, and his existence as an angel makes me uneasy about opening up to him, though I’m not exactly comfortable with talking about my feelings to anyone really.

For someone that I don’t really consider to be special, I apparently have a lot to write about him, though maybe it’s because William has been on my mind more recently. If people read this, they’d probably think I was going insane and then try to find the source of my alleged insanity. The thought of the possibility of me being insane is troublesome because I’ve always regarded myself as a rational person. I’ve always observed the world through the lens of science and practicality. The idea behind religion seems absurd and extremely made-up; sitting in church and listening to a priest ramble on didn’t strengthen my belief, as my parents hoped it would. I’ve given up on religion entirely, but it’s somewhat hypocritical that I believe in the existence of angels, but still deny any form of religious belief.

But I can’t deny the existence of William, my guardian angel. At night, I can hear the rustling of feathers and the beating of wings outside my window. I actually tried following him once, though I don’t remember why I did. What I do remember is the streaks of moonlight rippling across the starry sky. William was soaring overhead, his majestic, robust wings, bathed in the moonlight. I caught a feather that fell from his wings, and time froze for a moment as I stood in place, hearing my own heavy breaths as I glimpsed at this beautiful, yet somehow eerie spectacle. Then he turned around and smiled softly, filling me with a sense of warmth, and I opened my eyes to find myself back in my own bed. Wow, now that I’m rereading what I’ve written over the past hour, this entire account sounds really delusional, even though I’m certain this occured.

Maybe it’s because of that night that I’m wondering about what it would be like to fly and how it would be to feel gusts of wind through wings that emerge from the back. It seems weird to be reminiscing about this, but the memory also gives me a sense of electrifying pleasure. These feelings are not normal. I’m sure of it. But it’s becoming harder to suppress them, even as I’m writing this. Now, I can hear my own heart pounding, thrills of desire coursing through my body. I feel helpless against the sudden rush of emotions that overwhelm me.

Okay, I’m definitely going crazy now. I can’t control this. Why won’t these feelings disappear? I don’t know what’s the cause of this, but thisisreallyscaringandfrustratingmepleasejustgetoutofmyheaddammitthisisnotevenlikeme

I’m trying to calm myself down by staring outside my window, despite knowing how looking through the window has caused me a great deal of anxiety and frustration over the past several days. Maybe if I focus on something else, I’ll be able to bury these impulses and urges for the time-being. But all I can visualize now is him, even as I stare into the endless expanse of the blue-gray sky. Not just that night, but every single moment I’ve spent with him that I can conjure from memory. His piercing, yet kind gaze, his calm, soothing voice, the warmth of his hand in mine. Everything is swirling chaotically in my mind, and for the first time, I’m at a loss for what to do.

I open the window and lean forward, a fresh gust of wind rushing into the room. Loose pages of paper scatter across the room, as I close my eyes, trying to block out my senses.

I stand, shutting off all light and color, focusing on the disarray swarming inside my mind.

I won’t let my feelings influence me. I can’t give in. It’s useless, useless, useless. You’re not thinking rationally. Stop. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Something in me suddenly hardens, and my breaths begin to steady again, my heart returning back to its dull, repetitive throbs.

And just as quickly as those emotions appeared, they’ve vanished. Hopefully, they don’t return because I’m not ready to deal with them again. I’m trying to grasp what just happened, but instead, I just stare blankly outside in an almost dazed stupor. I just want to close my eyes and drift into a deep sleep, so I can forget indefinitely. I sigh quietly, and begin to turn away from the window. A stray feather drifts into view just like that night, and I instinctively snatch it from its journey with my fingertips, glancing in the direction from where it came from. Is William watching, as I write this? What does he think of me? How has he felt these last 15 years, seemingly obligated to watch over me?

As I begin to close the window, I glance over at the sky, my eyes reabsorbing what it had already seen. In that moment of staring into overwhelming shades of blue and white, a question resurfaces, having been forgotten through the turmoil of my mind.  Still clutching the feather tightly in my hand as I gaze up at the heavens one last time, I can’t help but wonder:

What would it be like to fly?