Flight.
All humanity craves it.
To step off the edge of a cliff, and not fall. To have wings to carry you far, far away from all reality...

I watch a bird land on a tree branch as I gaze out my window.
I stare longingly as he opens his wings, and in an instant, he's up and away.
Letting out a long sigh, and lay my pencil down. It's funny how even a pencil can seem heavy...
Pushing away from my desk, I slowly step toward the door.
'What's this longing?' I wonder, staring down at my feet as I walk.
'And why does it seem to consume me?'
I walk down a long hallway to the balcony.
Looking up at the pale white curtains, I sigh again.
Finally, I pull them away, and slide open the door.
When I step out, a chill runs up my spine. The cool autumn air is crisp, and it surprises my senses.
I look around at the now golden coloured trees, and take a deep breath.
Cautiously, I walk toward the edge, making sure not to step in any translucent puddles. When I unknowingly do step in one, I gasp; much louder than I would have liked.
Fearfully, I look back toward the door, making sure that it didn't stir those inside.
It's early morning, and the dawn is just beginning.
I've been awake most of the night, tossing and turning, praying for an answer.
Why do I so strongly desire to escape from this ground, this gravity?

To have wings to carry you far, far away from all reality.
To step off the edge of a cliff, and not fall.
All humanity craves it.
Flight...