I never was any good at
letting go. Like the balloon
at the fair twenty-something
years ago.

I tried so hard to hold on
to it, red and bursting
with helium and love. The harder
my little hand grasped the string, the more
it slipped away until, regrettably,
it floated up. Slowly and then
all at once. But it's not the
red balloons fault, I hold
no grudge, nor do I blame
you.

The only direction you could go
was up. Into the atmosphere.
I was a weight holding you,
in all your firey-red glory, to the earth. A
water filled ball
and chain.

Watching you float further
and further away from me, turning
into a tiny spec, my eyes still trying to see
where you would go, where your destiny
and the wind
would take you.

The tiny red balloon
became a piece of my heart
that went missing. Landing
a random place, thousands of
miles away, maybe, existing to
remind me
of all
that I've lost.

The balloon that got away
is the only one
I remember. The only
color I saw fading
into the clouds. The only
one I ever
loved.