There’s a place on Joy Meadow that not everyone notices.
A little house — looks ordinary, but the door only opens for those who, once upon a time, knew how to fly. Inside, the walls are lined with wings.
Butterfly wings. Fairy wings. Some clear as breath. Some heavy with light. Some so light they laugh through clouds. You can choose. Try them on. Run. Fall. Lift.
Hear the world shift its sound inside your ears. Feel something so deep, even ecstasy seems like a whisper in comparison.
Not everyone stays. Some choose their feet. Because it’s familiar. Because it feels “natural.”
And some leave with wings — never asking for proof again.