Who are you to say I cannot fly?
I’m made of feathers pulled from those who touched the sky then fell down within your grasp not caring for their bodies but longing for the feel of the ground beneath their talons. Like them. Like them, I’m made of light and air and even as you drag me through the dust I know my wings will pull me up one day and loose me from your hand — I cannot hate you. The dust you drag me through is tiny broken pieces of you; your world is falling apart.
But for me, still, and always, there will be time to fly.