Lost Inside the Crowd

“Hey, I saw your feather on the back of my house yesterday”
“I saw it beneath the cloud of Red Planet”
“Ah, I forgot to tell you, that I saw yours either on the Blue Country”
I lost in silence for a while, I knew what their were thinking.
“I bet you had flight a lot with those wings”
“I bet you had met a lot of people, angel, demons, and alien?”

Perhaps.

Demons. Sometimes I wonder, how lucky they are. They know exactly who they are, they know exactly what they want, and where they belong to. Hell. Lucky as hell.

How about me? Who am I? Where do I belong to?

I love to fly, but then I stuck into it. One morning, I flied beside a red light to one castil, playing around with the kids. Afterward I flied away beside a yellow light to a farm, rolled in the mud, playing along with cows, pigs, and chickens.
When the sun lost his light, and the moon raised up her elegant atmosphere through her grace visible radiation, another part of the world called me. I wore the most favorable red gawn that I had, turned my lips into crimson or more like blood, brush my soft blue wings, and flied beside a purple light. The cold air stabbed me like a knife as I travelled through them, nevertheless the purple light burned me. It was like I was standing between a heaven and hell. My wings turned into a flame in instead.
I danced a long that night, meeting a dozens of images that used a thousand types of mask that I couldn't underdtood.
I can talked to them, but I never can communicate to them.
I realized something wrong with me, or everything was wrong.

Everyone dressed in blue, I was stuck in red.
Everyone shone a red light through their eyes, I was drown in my blue eyes.
Everyone used their legs to walk, my legs were broken.
Everyone laugh at a joke but me.

How could they communicate to each other? I wonder what symbol do they used?
Maybe I’m the one who landed on the wrong place, at the wrong time, but where do I really belong to?
Why everything always devided into two things, me and not me?
Why I never understand not me?
Perhaps because I am me not not me.
Do I have to stop being myself to understand them? Another things that wasn’t me?

Why not me always pushed me to understand them? How?
Stop being myself?
Then what is the essence of the existence of myself anymore if I stopped being myself?

That night a magnificent angel fell from that black thick cloud and murmured softly to my right ear, told me to follow him. He grabbed my arms gently and flied me on his back.
He answered all of my question.
I stand on too many things that simply means I stand on nothing.
Whenever I choose more than one thing, it simply means I choose nothing at all.