I jumped off my favorite plane and landed on infinite winds. It felt great as my hands embraced the clouds rushing past my body. Sadness is felt as I distanced from the plane I considered heaven. Yet, the world is waiting for me down below.
My parachute clutched me and reminded me to use it. As my heart tugged its string, I was enthralled by the majestic view of this wonderful parachute above me. It rose above me, almost an image that eats me. People that I know saw it, too, and they were amazed by its greatness. I have clearly forgotten that a plane took me to the skies; THIS is a better way to experience heaven, it seems.
Suddenly, it gave up. Its clutch loosened up and it was blow hard by the wind. I was dragged. It felt like falling hard already.
The wind bothered me. My amazement to the parachute is swept away by the quick hustling winds rushing past me.
From heaven to horror it was.
I barely have the strength to control the parachute. It failed me. It made me believe it was worth the jump. Now, it got me falling to solid ground.
But wait. Suddenly, it takes control again. It works again how I preferred it to be though I am sure no more that it won't fail me again. Yet, I saw others who have prepared a safe landing for me. I am on air as I wish I can decide the safest and sure way to land. They both assure safety.
I must decide.
Give me time. More time.
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