Bursting and floating, an open bubble.
Never falling, never popping,
she went and went, along with the wind,
carried by the swiftness.
Storms had hit before- yeah they were long and cold.
But she never popped.
She was fluid, she was careful, she was carefree.

A storm.

Louder, and colder,
longer and harsher,
it whipped her layer by layer,
snapping her bursting, floating self.

The bubble scattered.

A piece here, a piece there,
and a brick somewhere far.
Left in the rain, under the shady trees.
Left in the cold, in the bare field.

Where did she go? they ask.

Away. Far,

far,




away.