We were gods once. Flying high above the clouds of reality, only ever lazily dipping our toes into its cold mist when we were bored. We were wherever the sun shone, like golden birds seeking its warmth. Then one day recklessly we flew too high, where the air was too thin, and our fragile lungs still tethered to the earth pulled us back like a child pulling at the grass, yet with a force so violent that our wings were shaken from our bodies, and our golden glaze gave way to an ashen grey as our minds faded to black, our bodies falling faster still, hurtling back towards the earth as Mother Nature tugged remorselessly at our limbs. Our eyes open again only seconds before the impact, the earth revolting against us as we are sent up again, and we hopelessly think we'll be sent back up to our wings. But our bodies now weak and shattered force us to obey the force of gravity, and so there we lie, tears falling from the wells of our eyes until we float in an ocean of our own making, our tears keeping us afloat. We repeat our mistakes in our minds again and again, hopelessly pretending that if we remember enough, if we find our point of fatal error, that we will be sent back, that the gods will again call us to fly with them, but we know in our fractured bones that we will never fly again. And as we float in our ocean of misery, we watch as our wings fly away. Before us the sun sinks under the horizon leaving us submerged in the dark waters of the night, our fears circling us below before pulling us under, pulling the air from our fragile lungs so greedily until we are drowned, weighed down by our fears and our hearts until we settle to the bottom with the sand that once we created. We were gods, once.
