The Balloons We Once Let Go Of (part 2)

I’m laughing at my fingers,

for they have found no more

purpose here…

I have already let go of

so many balloons…

…and they have also let go of me.

In the last post, I talked about how the balloons we once let go of as children were metaphorically filled with our once dreams and loves, but I never explained my other thoughts about balloons….

I think the reason I want to fly away with them, is not only because I want to see where they have travelled, but I want to be relieved. It’s like we keep all of these things inside our chests, and weighing on our shoulders that prevent us from flying, you know? What if we could use all of the negative things and bad memories that we for some reason tend to hold so close to our hearts, and just injected them with helium, and then filled a balloon with them to just watch them fucking fly away.

…What an amazing thought.

It’s like revenge against the sky for stealing our dreams and happiness that we once loosely held at the ends of those strings-so pointless to the weakness of our naive fists. So, when I say I want to fly away with them, I mean I want to follow these balloons that I have filled with my every darkness and follow them to wherever they may go, and then when we land, I will throw pins and needles at them…and this is when any bad memories, regrets, or things I don’t want any more will blow up in a high pitched helium explosion. This is the part when I will begin to laugh like that little boy I once was, with my voice ironically sounding like it just injected itself with helium as well.

…Then the other balloons will find me, because they remember that little voice. 

The other balloons, the good balloons I once let go of, because I swear they promised me that they would find me again. And they will. And they will. They just wanted to test me, and see if I had what it takes to choose between the noises of life or the beauties in the hiding. They were just seeing if I would keep my promise too, the one I made with my fingertips, the one within this letter, within this poem…

Dear Balloon,

I didn’t want to let you go.

My grip so weak and young,

But I will learn.

Just let me live first.

I will find you.

I swear.

I promise.

P.S.

Go fly the world for me... So I know my purpose here.