I imagine the wonder, the amazement, the awestruck moment.
And you wonder if you're the only one who can do this.
But it's not like you're afraid that others may find you.
Part of you wants them to find you (If they exist, that is).
It's the fact that there are a lot of people in the world,
and in all of their differences, there's a certain uniformity that you sense.
And it's not that bad of a uniformity. There will always be order. 
But for a moment, you're wishing that this defining moment, 
This scary act, this effortless push, will make you different. 
Make you unique. Make you more than what you think when 
You stare at that person on the other side of the mirror.

I imagine the acceptance, the sense of responsibility. 
"I can fly," you say, "It's like I'm Superman or something." 
Except you don't have that perfectly cropped hair or write for the paper. 
But it doesn't matter in the long run, because the flight is all that matters.
The simple act of looking past what people want, and focusing on what the sky wants. 
The sky wants you. It calls out to you during the day, and sings to you at night, hoping that once, just once, you'll give in and find yourself in its chilling embrace.

I imagine giving in to the sky.
Its embrace is indeed chilling, but there's a warmness to it. 
A warmness that makes you think of an old cabin that's been built 
But not lived in. It still has that new smell, and nothing, not even the 
Seasons can make it go away. 
That's the warmness I get when I see my home beneath me. 
That's the warmness I desire when I no longer hear sound. 
When it's just me and the sky. 
Even my thoughts don't break through.
And I go out of my way, swimming in the sky,
Pushing myself further away from the Earth, 
Drifting until I feel that I'm at a comfortable distance.