It’s the same old house. I’m on the terrace, ready to take off on a flight, but fall. My wings have failed.
I see myself on my destination, jumping through the golden orb into a zone of bliss. Fame, wealth, peace, love all surround me.
Then, those dark corridors again…. Which take me back to the same old house, where I grew up. It has been pulled down and replaced by a new construction long since.
I’m on the terrace and look ahead. Why are those corridors dark? They fail to show the number of times I fell and got up again, the number of times I bruised my knees but found wheels to move, the number of times I dreamt of dark things, but found the power to fly again.