At the floor of the clouds I was still only a horse—earth holding me, hoofprints looping the same circle. I ran fast, yet my thoughts stayed tethered. One morning a ring of sky called me: salt in the air, cool light, unhurried quiet. I remembered my wings, slowly. Each hop swelled a breeze inside; clumsy feathers brushed. It’s fine not to soar—today I just move where my heart feels lighter. The world hurries far away, but I choose my own stride. Step by step beyond the ring, yesterday’s fence grows small. I’m still awkward at freedom, but the sky never mocks me. Slow is okay—toward warmth in my chest. In that blue hush, I learned to forgive myself.
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