It's a trick of the light, I suppose. A human being cannot free themselves from the tug of gravity by themselves, but nevertheless, my memory of flying is quite clear, as if one afternoon I walked out of my house and catapulted myself skyward -- as free as a bird, if you'll pardon the cliché. It had to have been a dream because human beings can't fly on their own -- they need technological assistance to hurl themselves into the wild blue yonder, but in my more introspective moments, I wonder if it could have possibly been true.
And remembering those moments of freedom causes a bit of melancholy in the soul. I flew. I know I flew. But I can't do it now, and that is always a weight on a soul. I don't remember dreaming it; I logically conclude that it must be a dream because the times when I am awake, I am stuck to the ground as a magnet sticks to iron.
But I want to believe that I have once stretched skyward and was free of the surly bonds of gravity, no matter how unreal that possibility. And of course, I want to do it again.
But I am not a bird nor am I a superhero, and my life is mere ordinary. Somewhere there is a door to a better reality, and once, I think, I have been there. Sadly, though, I am not there now.
So gentle readers, tell me of something you remember that cannot be true; of a moment when you were in that better reality and only have your memories to remind you.