What If We Fly

There are a million reasons not to. Not to take the risk. Not to believe again. Not to try, to hope, to dream, to leap. Not when the past has given us every warning sign, every scar, every whispered reminder of how things can break. And God knows, we’ve broken. Bent beneath the weight of things we didn’t see coming. Crushed under diagnoses we couldn’t pronounce, nights we didn’t sleep, and plans we had to bury. We’ve played it safe because sometimes safety is survival—because when you’re holding on by a thread, the last thing you want is a gust of wind strong enough to make you let go.

But what if the wind isn’t here to tear us down—what if it’s here to lift us? What if, after everything—after the pain, the tears, the deep aching silence—we were never meant to stay hidden in the shadows of what went wrong? What if the edge we keep tiptoeing toward isn’t the end at all, but the beginning of a flight we’ve never dared to believe in?

It’s true. We could fall. We could leap and lose. We could get hurt. Again. But what if we don’t? What if faith, that quiet whisper in our chest, knows something we don’t? What if fate has been patiently waiting, just beyond the fear, for us to crack open enough to be changed?

We could be carried—by something bigger than logic. By grace, by love, by winds we can’t control but maybe can trust. To somewhere not on any map. To a peace we never thought we’d find again. To healing—not because it erases the damage, but because it teaches us how to fly with broken wings.

Maybe safety isn’t the point. Maybe life was never about playing it small, caged in by our pain. Maybe life is about the what if. Maybe we’ve survived long enough. Now maybe—just maybe—it’s time to live.

And yes, we might fall. But… what if we fly?