Every night till the age of ten, I would pretend to fly. I would put my arms at my sides and "fly" around my room and pretend to jump in the air like a ballerina, But at the age of 11, I grew out of the angel stage, Instead of dreams in a deep sleep, I wept.
I couldn't fly, I went to school and filled my mind with stories of the flying artists. But I knew I would never have the wings to sore, But every night I dreamt of flying till my lungs gave out.... But I couldn't fly because I cant let go of the pain that weighs me down so I cant fly with the flying artists. So I'll hid the pain until They come and find me the flying artists will sore above my selfish hands in wait of a shove
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