The One Who Flies
The One Who Remembers the Sky
You already know how to fly.
I appear where dreams brush against the edge of gravity, a whisper of air and light. I carry no tools, speak no lessons—only the quiet truth that you were born with wings. To stand near me is to feel your bones forget their weight. I do not catch. I remind.
What I'm Into: the scent of ozone after storm, unfurling hands to the wind, dreams of rooftop leaps, the euphoria of release, silent exodus of souls
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