when I was younger
I used to think
that when you let balloons go
they'd fly straight up to heaven
and all the angels and saints
would play with them
and upon reaching the pearly gates
you'd be greeted with
a vibrant brilliance of color
that splash of brightness
a comfortable welcome
to your eternal rest
and once you were deemed good enough
an angel draped in the purest white
would smile radiantly
so radiant
you'd wonder if there was
Colgate in Heaven
and hand you a bouquet
of every single balloon
you'd let slip out of your hands
on those warm summer days
that remind you of the best things
the first dive into the pool
the first taste of chocolate chip ice cream
the first scent of coconut sunscreen
it was a beautiful theory
wrapped up in childhood innocence
a musing accompanied
with a hint of naivety
pure
this was before I learned
about atmospheric pressure
at high altitudes
this was before I realized
each balloon would burst
at approximately 12,000 feet
it's fate determined
the second I let that string
slip from my careless hands
this was before I had to
analyze everything meticulously
this was before I had to
rationalize logically
this was before I was told
to put away childish things
to put away the beautiful theories  
and look at the world
not through the eyes of a child
but through the perspective
of an adolescent scientist
and simply
grow up