When the Wind Hesitates
In a sky full of currents, one draft moved slower than the rest.
Not because it lacked direction,
but because it kept questioning if it deserved to move at all.
Others drifted — effortlessly, gracefully.
As if motion was instinct.
As if the sky had never told them no.
But this one?
It trembled every time it tried to rise.
Measuring itself against breezes that never seemed to strain.
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Sometimes it would ask,
“Why does it look so easy for them? Why do I feel like a weight in a place meant for flight?”
And worse —
it would begin to wonder if the sky could feel embarrassed
by the way it stumbled through air
meant to be danced in.
It wanted to move.
It truly did.
But the wanting always came with questions:
Was it enough?
Was it too late?
Was it even allowed?
And so, the wind paused.
Not because it couldn’t go forward —
but because no one ever taught it
that even slow winds
still belong to the sky.
