I’ve always wanted to fly. I used to spend countless hours wondering how it would feel to have the wind blowing through my untamed hair, drying out my lips. It was a thought I couldn’t control.I would spend my extra time trying to describe the weightlessness of flying, trying to write down how it would feel.

I imagined it would feel like I was sitting on a cloud. Perhaps it would feel no different than walking in a pair of really comfortable shoes. Or maybe it would feel like dancing. Would it carry the same fluidity?

And then one day, it hit me. We can all fly, if only for a moment. But I knew the cost, and I weighed it heavily. I tried to tell people how I felt. I tried to tell them how much I wanted to fly. But not a soul listened. They thought I was joking. They didn’t realize how alone I felt!

So one day I approached a ledge. Staring down, I knew it was time to fly. I took a running start, and as I flew off the ledge one thought stayed in my mind. I wanted my feet to stay on the ground. Because that moment when I flew, I didn’t feel weightless. I felt every pound as I rushed toward the ground. Turns out I knew what flying felt like. It was no different from falling.

But I couldn’t get back up when I hit the ground. I couldn’t dust myself off and just keep going. To learn what it is to fly, I had to die.