I never liked gravity. Ever since I learned in preschool that I couldn’t ever fly on my own, and that birds and flies and little fat bees could, I hated gravity. It isn’t fair and it makes no sense. Who is this gravity to tell me that I can’t fly?
Of course, it can’t. I have no intention to let some stupid thing like gravity tell me what I am and am not able to do. I want to fly. And I am going to fly.
If faeries can lie, and princes can save princesses from eternal slumber with true love’s kiss, and immortals can waltz around and steal away people’s lives with no effort at all, then why can’t I fly? Is someone trying to throw it in my face that I’m just a lame little person who can’t do anything spectacular? Is someone trying to say that I’m not worth enough to get to fly, or that what I wish for makes no difference for anything? Is someone babying me because I’m just too delicate and stretched thin to handle the stress of life without terrible gravity?