It's Not A Nightmare if You're Not Sleeping

I'm determined to not hit the wall. I'm determined to keep on the track. I'm determined to stop, but that isn't at the top of the list. It's hidden under a bunch of other things I'm determined to do, and in all honesty, I don't have any doubt in my mind that I can stop. I mean, I've done it before, so why not again?

So I go, I've got fifteen minutes to make this all go down the way I want it to. We both want this, but it isn't in the same way. He wants freedom, and I want to learn to fly.

So we move. I'm doing everything right. And then we begin to take off, and I'm not going to hit the wall this time. I'm not going to allow it. I won't let him get away with me.

But we're going too fast. Soon everything is out of my control. I'm flying, yes, but I'm being pulled along at an alarming rate. I'm not learning to fly, I am simply being dragged through the air by my fragile wings. I'm being dragged through the air towards the wall, and no matter what I do I can't stop.

So I scream, even though I shouldn't, I can't, I won't. I scream, and the second it's out I'm ashamed and defeated. We slow, we stop, and I can't help but cry. It's a shameful thing. I've never been so scared of a thing that could fly. And yet, now I am.

And the scene replays, again and again. I don't even have a scratch on me to show the fight I had. I don't have anything to show that I had reason to be scared. I've only a bruised ego from failure, and the shot-down hope that maybe, maybe I was ready to learn how to fly.

And I think, maybe I should have let him throw me into the wall, because then I'd have something to tell instead of a bunch of words that just can't be told for shame.