on falling

i fall a lot in my dreams. it’s a kind of falling that you could look forward to; it was so infinite. there’s no destination, no end, and so, no pain and no fear. i would fall and keep on falling and it felt heavenly, like waking up from a delicious dream when your mind and your body feel like cotton candy, slowing untangling itself and stretching out. it felt a little like flying. if there is no end to the up or the down, no top or bottom, no barriers or borders, nothing but freedom and space, is there really a difference between falling and flying? does flying necessarily come with a direction? are you broken if the only direction you can fly in is south? what about if you can only fly in place? i guess the same question can be asked about life. if there is no end in sight, no mortality to grapple with, is there a difference between soaring and flailing?