We're all familiar with the myth of Icarus, the boy who took his father's wings and flew too close to the sun which came to his demise.
We're all Icarus sometimes, aiming for the impossible and those beyond our reach.
When we look up at the sky on a sunny day and a bird or a plane dashes in the great blue ceiling, we can't help but stretch our arms and try to reach out for it. The sky looks like an endless ocean we can all swim around without soaking in water. What would it be like to grow a pair of wings, too?
We dream of flying. Soaring to the sky with no care for consequence, like birds flapping on their wings, on a mission to a destination. We want to see the world beneath our feet, like an airplane hovering over the land. We hope to stride the tides of life like a kite breezing through the atmosphere, going wherever the wind takes us. To have such freedom is a grand ambition to have. Flying is only for those who can risk. And those who can risk, they're ready to fall.
The sky is the limit.