I used to tell myself that one day I was going to touch the sky. It seemed so close and yet it was so far out of reach but it never, not even once, seemed impossible. Each breath I took managed to reach that height so why couldn't I? Why was I destined to be left on the ground? After all, I had wanted so badly to feel the freedom of vast open space and not the small confines of a four-walled room. I was only six when I had created this delusion for myself: I could actually touch the sky if I was an adult. From my view adults were allowed to do whatever they wanted, so if I was one that meant that I could finally reach the sky even though it seemed so distant. Nowadays I've realized other things are much more faraway than the sky. 

            Someday I'll touch the sky, that's what I went around preaching to people. Most of them found it cute, after all this little girl is talking about wanting to touch the clouds. It's a childish dream that at the time seemed so realistic. As a child, the sky looked to be the freedom to do whatever I pleased. But as I grew older the world didn't seem as bright as before. Suddenly the sky wasn't so blue and the clouds weren't as vibrant. Grey, the whole world had seemed so grey. Playing in the field wasn't interesting anymore, hanging out with friends became only a judgmental contest of who looked better, and staying in my room became a regular routine.

            I was 12 when the challenges of middle school finally corrupted me. Touching the sky sounded as ridiculous as giant pig robots attacking our planet. I had realized then just how dark the world really was. A tragic realization, nonetheless, that most likely contributed to the state of depression I sunk into for years. Every day felt like I was being piloted, a mere shell going through the motions of daily life. I remember asking myself, am I really even in here? I was doing the things I was supposed to do but I was doing them with a mask over my mind. I wasn't fully aware of anything around me and that didn't bother me in the slightest. I was a shell, condemned to the life of a viewer. The events would unfold right before my eyes and yet they seemed fake. I didn't feel anything on Christmas day when we sat by our tree and unwrapped those shiny red presents or even when I blew out those candles on my 13th birthday cake.

            I would stare at my reflection for hours trying to figure out who the stranger was staring back at me. Pale eyes, pale skin, and an even paler imagination for the sky. I couldn't possibly be that silly girl who would reach for the clouds on her tippy toes. I couldn't possibly have been so stupid to think I could escape from the aches in my heart and the despair in my mind. I couldn't possibly have thought that I'd ever truly be free. So I'd let frustrated tears stream down my cheeks mixed with the black mascara society has pressured young girls into wearing and whatever little self-esteem I had left trailed down my cheeks and onto the floor to sink into the carpet, never to be reclaimed again. I was 13 and I couldn't even pull myself out of bed, I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even open my curtains to face that bright blue sky that I once dreamed about so much.

            Everyone feels like that in their teenage years, my mother would retort each time I explained how I was feeling (which believe me it was a rare thing). Well, I guess I'll never know if I can't make it out of my teenage years, I had always thought of that response but could never bring myself to choke out those retched words. That girl who loved that blue sky would have never thought such a thing and there was nothing I wanted more than to be her. To be able to wear that constant smile and actually feel happy. To be able to run around in the tall dry grass as I chased the clouds roundabout from dusk to dawn. If I was only that girl then I wouldn't be laying in my bed with self-imposed dreams of death.

            It was a clear morning when I was woken up to the chiming song of the birds. I had groggily climbed out of bed and stumbled to my window half surprised that I even had the strength to stand. I had lifted the curtain slightly to the side, just enough that I could catch a glimpse of that sky I had once loved. When I had seen it, it was like nothing I had ever seen before.

            The colors came soaring at me: vibrant blue, creamy white, and streaks of purple and pink. It was the beginning of a new morning, a new day. I was blown away by the comforting song of the sky. The wind was a melody of peace and the bird's chirpings were a masterpiece of brilliantly perfected notes. It would be impossible for anyone to not be engulfed. This sky was not the bright blue one I had cherished as a kid, this one was different. With this one, I knew I'd be able to make it.

            I may not have had wings to shoot me up to the heights I wanted to so desperately travel to but I had a newfound desire. Each morning was new and unique from the last, so I vowed to myself that I'd see as many of them as I possibly could. If the sky is freedom than this earth must be the stairway so I'll climb, one morning at a time until I'm able to touch the sky.