If I Had Wings Today

This morning I woke up already tired of carrying myself. All the thinking, the planning, the weight of being a person in a loud world that expects you to mean something.

Then I watched a butterfly wander through the yard like it had never heard the word purpose.

It moved the way a thought moves when you stop trying to hold it, soft, uncertain, beautiful in the way something is beautiful when it doesn’t know anyone is watching.

No map. No hurry. Just wings thin enough to let the sun pass through them.

It landed on a flower like the earth itself had called it there. Stayed only a moment before the wind lifted it again without explanation.

And I wondered what it must feel like to trust the air that much.

To drift over gardens and fences without worrying whether the journey meant anything.

To know your life is brief and still spend it touching color instead of counting days.

If I had wings like that I think I would stop asking where I was supposed to go.

I would follow the warm currents between trees and rooftops, let the wind make decisions my mind has been wrestling for years.

Maybe the soul remembers how to move like this.

Maybe somewhere inside us there is still something small and bright that knows how to wander.

And maybe life was never meant to be carried like a burden.

Maybe it was meant to be worn lightly, like wings.