If only I had wings. I would fly.
I would fly not with the wind, but against it.
I would not flow with society.

I would build a house in a tree.
Trees are very special in a way.
In a way so similar to one.
They start as a seed. They grow, they grow.
Leaves are green yet soft. Strong.
They hold on strong, fighting against the harsh sun, wind and rain.
Then they eventually become, not weakened, but fragile.
They change and fall.
Only to let go of the fragile past.
To bring the new.
Only to become strong, once again.