I continued to look out beyond the city.
New York.
A place where dreams could be made.
I stood up on the skyrise and outstretched my arms, leting the wind push my hair across my face. I let my eyes sink up the city below me and my skin soak up the sun's rays.
And I dove down.
My arms were compressed against my sides as I sliced through the air. Before I got too low, I pushed my arms out with all my force, and my wings spanned out, stopping my fall. I swooped down and rose back up into the air.
I let my heart carry me out to wherever it needed to go. I rose higher and higher, until I leveled out and glided steadily along the atmosphere. My smile was bigger than the Empire State Building. The feeling of flying was unbeatable. The air embracing your frame, expanding your wings out to any extrent.
The feeling of being free.
That feeling was unstopable. Everytime. It never got old.
I soared left and made a U turn, just so I could admire my wings.
They were dark brown at the top and they shaded down to a lighter brown and tan to the bottom of my wings. They had speckles of white everywhere along my wings. I'd say my wings were one of a kind.
I rose up higher and higher, to where I could feel the heat of the sun intensify. The feeling of the sun along your back was pure bliss.
And the clouds. The clouds were so beautiful from down below, however, when you actually burst through them was like water being splashed upon your face. A new, fresh awakening.
And the sky.
The sky, the air, the atmosphere, or whatever you called it, was your space. The sky was your blank canvas, the canvas you could create your adventure upon. It was decorated with the sun and the clouds. A pretty picture. But the sky was more than a pretty picture.
This was a place I could call my own.
