My mind would be my wings, they take me to far away places that are out of reach within the actual reality of the world. They are strong, yet delicate. Threatening but exude a warmth. They are dark, so dark that the light is repelled from the curves of the weighty feathers. I live in contrast, it's all I've ever known. Lies.
Lies are all there are. No one tells it how it is because their reality is different to mine and mine different to theirs. Their wings are made of autumn leaves; they are beautiful but useless against gravity. They soar no higher than their standing height, no further than their legs can carry them. It is a shame, I feel sorry for them. They have no idea of how closed they are to everything beyond their reach.
But then again, I am happy to have the only knowledge of what is true.
I have no doubt it would be tainted if I let another know the secrets hidden in the dark shadows of my wings.
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