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When your palms faced skyward,
And your fingers unfolded,
I would always take your hand,
And intertwine my fingers with yours.
Every time we touched,
You broke my chains,
You gave me strength,
You set me free.
But when you let me go, I’d go tumbling
Through the snowy white clouds and there I was—once again,
Chained to reality
With the shackles clasped upon my fabricated wing—
In a place where you once walked with me,
In a place we cannot return to.
I once asked myself—
If fabricated wings were so wonderful,
Why didn’t I wear them forever and never take them off?
So that even if you are too far from my reach in reality,
I could still hold onto your hand
Created from the colors of my imagination,
Never letting go.
But I know that if I flew forever,
I would only feel the empty air rushing past me,
And if I tried to touch the clouds,
My fingers would only slip right through.
I’ve chosen to walk upon the earth,
So that I might find a bush of roses,
Stroke its crimson petals,
And inhale its fresh aroma.
Even if its thorns stab me and make me bleed
At least I might feel the rose as it truly is.