I seek release. I have honed my wings well enough to fly. I desire to explore places I have never been, and talk with people I have never seen. But all I have been doing so far is wait. Wait for what? I do not know. The cord that binds my feet to the ground scrapes repeatedly against my skin. As if to remind me of my continuing agony. Poking the open wound that does not only continue to bleed, but is also filled with dirt. Attempts at flight fail. I have my hands, though, to sever the cord that traps me in myself. Somehow, despite all the opportunities, despite the desire, I do not stretch them out to free my feet. I wonder if I will forever be content with what I have and where I am. It seems that way right now. I am discontented, but at the same time filled.

I would like to fly off, but do not. I would like to be free, but cannot. I seek release, but will not. No. Not today.

Maybe tomorrow.