I remember when I was a child
A balloon seemed to make everything better.
But now the helium filled, red, rubber orb drifts out of my reach,
into the purple haze of the night sky,
taking with it my love and innocence.
You told me never let go.
You told me as long as I held on you would be there.
But the winds blew hard,
and the string broke free.
I couldn't catch it.
I tried to hang on, really I did.
"I tried." I tell you, as you float away into the horizon.
"I tried." I say, attempting to convince myself that it was an accident,
the string wasn't meant to break.
The balloon wasn't supposed to get away from me.
But as I look down, I see the red lines from where I tried to hang on,
I see the scissors in your hand,
from where you cut the string
and allowed my balloon
to float free . . .