Flying

In the fight between idealism, realism and fantasy, it's hard to find the balance point, each one has it's highs and lows, and I continuously rise and fall on these waves of fairytales, fables, and dreams in my head, as they beg to be believed, to be freed from the ranks of pretend.
Reality has a heavier hand, it grounds me on an island, reminding me, time and again that there are some things in life that are not open for discussion.
But there's comfort in having your feet on the ground, and sometimes I wonder what it is that makes one decide to leave earth and take that idealistic flight upwards? As much of a rush as it is to fly, there's always that fear of, and the knowledge that you will, come back down...

I willingly jump in, headfirst flying, diving deep down through the clouds, below the sea, over jungles, along the great rivers - the roads of the world, and everything between, I run down the sandy beaches of time, before it all unwinds and I find...
I am home.