Whenever I’m on a road trip as a passenger, I stare out the window four hours, watching the imaginary me gliding along the road with her big angel wings. Sometimes I hug the contours of the hills, feeling the heat radiate off the earth. Other times, I soar high, far from the road, with the cool breeze teasing my feathers. In mountainous areas, I feel the thermals support my weight. If we pass tall grasses or water, I glide across the surface, occasionally breaking it with my fingers or wing tips. If my wings get tired, I just sit on the roof of the car and feel the sun and the wind. This has been a fantasy for as long as I can remember and i just can’t seem to let it go.