Or what I’ll be through.
To be home. To be a home.
Therefore Maera, we fly on the plane and some of us jump from it, we ride big balloons and cable cars, we build skyscrapers with transparent bridge and glass windows, we climb the mountains then gaze up above and down below. Some of the nicest people die up there, in the journey of height, of finding out how great they can be on the vertical horizon. On being hopelessly romantic, I think they became the sheep-shaped cloud, or fireworks flicker, or got reborn as mountain dandelion.
Later you grow up, you’ll find out that we, instead of ‘apart’, are ‘a part’ of the sky. We are pieces of the first layer of the sky which explains our will to be up high.
It is inside and out of us.