Note: poem not story

When I was little

I used to lay outside and reach my hands up to the sky above

Convinced I could touch the great moving clouds

If I just extended my arms just a little further…

I would be dropped back here

Than back in the past

Sit in the rain reaching to the gods

Instead of the clouds that swept over the lands

Although it is a warm embrace—-

Warmer than the arms I’m looking for—-

I know I couldn’t reach a little further

But still I try to fly

I guess a dream is not a dream broken

Until it stays unfullfilled all your life