Pitter! Patter! The sound of the teardrops;
pleading that the harsh tear stops.
She ripped it in two and a half...
million different pieces and parts.

The balloon like an orb as the sun shines,
connected by a string tied to my wrist,
severed by a calm tug.
The balloon drifted with the winds,
floated into the air; and with it...
came a realisation that I am no longer a child.

I am no longer a child...
She ripped it in two and a half...
million different pieces and parts
But there was no Pitter! There was no patter!
There was no sound of teardrops
and sometimes I wished I could learn to cry again.


___

I had let go of a balloon
And picked up a pen.