I envy the mountains

I envy the mountains. They are high, higher than us, higher than buildings (most of them), strong and stable.

I envy the birds. They can fly, fly from New York to Cairo, fly for hours, nonstop and freely.

I envy the clouds. They are white, whiter than the colour white, whiter than pureness, puffy and harmonic.

I envy them all, yet not let go of myself.