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What would you do if you lost your wings one day? The wings that had always been with you before that day… the wings that had been part of your being… and had seemed to be inseparable from the whole. So, what would you do?

Would you seek the possible reasons of this? Would you surrender yourself to despair? Or would you be long on hope in the deep of your soul that someday they will grow back?

Would you feel lonely and uncomfortable even if you were surrounded by thousands of wingless people? People, who lost their wings a long time ago, or, even at all, were born without them. This happens so often nowadays that it has become common. And those who still keep their ability to fly look strange in the eyes of the wingless masses, as they become less and less numerous.

I can’t remember why my wings disappeared. But at one time they broke off with a crash, and the bright red blood covered the silvery white feathers. I was looking for a long time at two broken wings that were mine an instant ago and now were turning before my very eyes into ashes billowing up to the sky. What belongs to the heavens should remain there. Apparently, it happened that I had become a too heavy burden for them to carry me… They couldn’t bear it and broke off.

Nobody can help and nobody will say a word of consolation. There are many of those who have never soared up to the sky in their lives and have been satisfied with their down-to-earth life. And if you dare to ask someone how to live further, this one will only give a shrug of their shoulders and a short answer: “Everyone lives like that”. The point of the matter will remain not understood by them.

Two exposed broken bones are jutting out of my back. I am lying on my bed, touching them with my hand, but don’t feel any spark of life in them. These stumps don’t hurt, but, instead of this, it hurts somewhere deeply inside.

What am I supposed to do now? Guess it’s unnecessary to ask myself. Have my interests changed? Have I lost my ability to work? No. I’ve lost my ability to fly. And this fact frightens me to the dazed state. Before now I was able to overcome a very long distance within minutes and fly away from all my anxieties, and now it takes half a day to go by foot to the other end of the town. The town that was built on the earth and that is filled with the people bound to that earth. The wingless people who have not even a single thought about raising their eyes up to the sky that is always above them, and who always focus their attention on the earth, that, unlike them, continues to float in the boundless heavens.

The time passes; the slow and wagging step along the ground seems to become habitual, and the bone stubs, left after the wings, have been already effaced and flattened almost to the skin. Soon, it won’t be any physical reminder that once there were two beautiful wings, but this feeling… The feeling of something behind my back that made me able to soar over the ground won’t disappear. Is this so that I have to carry this phantom through all the rest of my life? What should I do with this feeling? Should I allow the earthly vanity to swallow it up or allow this feeling to engulf me? Or I should turn it into something different? For example, to let it down to the depth of my heart and be reborn there as a seed that will spring a sprout one day; and this sprout, with an impetuous aspiration, will grow outwards from my heart and spread two new silvery white wings.

And then, heavens, wait for me and receive me into your weightless embrace again.