strings and balloons, and the sky.

I remember once, when I was a little girl--

at Maceys.

The balloon I so looked forward to at the cash was given to me with a smile and tied around my little wrist, a hopeful gesture that more smiles would be given in return.

My mom never liked those balloons.

I guess I could say that I've never been good with endings, with losing things--

beginnings I'm great at.
Lately less so, because beginnings mean endings, and I can't see past that.

But mostly, I'm good at beginnings.

Today, I'm staring an ending right in the eye,

death glare.

But it's looking back at me and punching me right in the gut,

bruising me, 

choking me,

forcing me to look the other way. 

I can't forget the happiness that was the beginning,

the promises of always and the promises of never. 

But now it is here, just like always, an ending.

Just like the balloon, tied onto my wrist but too uncomfortable for me to handle.

The tight rubbing of the string pestered me and I fidgeted with it, and my mom told me

"Don't do that, it will fly away."
But I couldn't stop.

And I guess that's how all my endings start. 

With fidgeting, discomfort, unending attentiveness. 

I can't forget one thing for longer than a moment, it is always rubbing against my skin,

making it red and itchy and soon, 

I forget all about the balloon and can't stop thinking about the string.

So I loosen it, digging my fingernails into the string, not thinking about anything but the discomfort,

the healing that will happen when I loosen it, the freedom I'll have, 

all the while forgetting that losing the string means losing the balloon.

And then it goes. I set it free and it floats away effortlessly and without a second thought, never wavering to say goodbye and never stopping to look at me. No matter how much I think I have a chance, no matter how many times I plead with it to come back, plead with God to come back, I watch the yellow blob float through the sky, crying from the cart in the parking lot. My mom says
"I told you so,"
and I cry, unable to reach it, unable to call it back, all the while hoping with all my heart that it will.

I've had so many balloons.

I've never been able to keep any of them.

I keep forgetting because of the string, I keep hoping I will be able to handle it when I get the balloon, I keep forgetting.

Sometimes I think that I'll never want a balloon again. Balloons seemed to have brought me nothing but misery, and I gave up on them.

I thought this time was different,

but I guess all balloons have to find their way back to their eternal homes,

and strings have to be cut loose.