I used to hold your hand, grasp your fingers, and never let go. You thought this was silly, you said I'd cut off our circulations of blood flow, but I didn't care. You were mine, and I wasn't about to let you out of my grip.

Too bad you slipped, floating away from me, drifting farther and farther. And all I could do was watch.  

It reminded me of a balloon I held once, a pretty yellow one I got at a fair; my small fingers clutching it tightly. Mommy told me to tie it to my wrist, so it wouldn't blow away. I should have listened.

As it took to the air, lifting higher and higher, into the clouds;
All I could do was helplessly stand there. Until the yellow dot in a sea of blue; eventually just became part of the sky.
It made me cry.


I think boys are like those pretty balloons, not all, but most. They come in many different colors and many different sizes and shapes.

Some say things like "I love you,"  "I'm yours." or even "Happy Birthday."
Others forget to tell you anything like that at all.
They just hover above you, as you clasp them in your hands, hoping with all your might that you are enough to make them stay.

And honestly, some are just meant to be "let go" or "set free."
Because they're not worth keeping, no matter what you tell yourself.