I used to fly,
touching the softness of clouds,
dancing with the wind, thinking I had grasped everything.

My wings...
once showed the happiest version of me,
when I thought I had conquered the sky,

Mother,
she was one of those who always saw me smile,
with wings attached, like fate, as if I were born to fly.

But today,
the wind that once felt like a friend now feels foreign.

And the high sky is no longer a dream.

Maybe this time,
I want to confess:
“Mom, I don’t believe in my wings anymore.”