You're a wolf boy, get out of this town

I took a good look at the world today.

I was hanging out at the park with a couple of my friends, and while we were laughing over something I don’t recall I noticed a small girl was crying.

This little girl was crying because the balloon she had held tightly in her pebble sized fist had somehow slipped from her grasp and found its freedom into the big blue sky.

To me, it was just a balloon. A piece of some red rubber filled with air and attached to a emaciated string. But then somehow, I realized, to this little girl, the balloon was not just this piece of rubber...
no, instead, it was a friend. It was something that seemed even somewhat familiar in a world that often did not. It was a sparkling shape of amazement, filled with magic and wonder.

The red glistened in the glow of the afternoon sun, and the way it floated through the air was like something from a fairytale. To this tiny girl it was not just any balloon, it was her balloon, something that belonged to her, something she could call her own, and oh, it made her smile. It didn't make her sad. Instead it made her imagination run wildly free. She could easily close her eyes and see herself running through the prettiest green field with her mother holding one hand while the other held the balloon's ribbon tight with hope and laughter.

And then,
Just like that…
It was gone.

And it wasn't just that the balloon magically disappeared.
No, instead she had to watch it fly away, just out of her reach.

And the hardest part for her was knowing this…
She could have saved it, almost...
but her arms weren’t long enough, and she knew it wasn't coming back.


Now to many of you, this story probably sounds completely ridiculous.

But before you write it off, let me just ask...
do remember those days when you were just a child?
When you could be whatever you wanted, dream whatever you pleased and your mind would briskly run alongside your imagination?

I've found that as people get older, many lose their sense of adventure, excitement, wonder and imagination. They get dull and boring.

And that hurts me, because I'm lucky to say that for some reason I've always been a five year old at heart. Some would find that as an extremely lame and useless excuse to act immature. But honestly, I couldn't be more proud to say that I still have a heart that pounds blood of a hue instead of ash.

Well that’s not what I’m actually getting at with this story.
The story is not about me at all…
The only story is the one I typed above, about the small girl.

And I'll explain everything to you,
because I’m fully aware that sometimes I'm not the most crystal clear when it comes to explanations...

Well,
No matter how old we get,
we're always going to have those red balloons and in our life.
We're going to fall madly in love with them.
We're going to completely cherish them, take our entire existence and place it into their hands. We’ll pour our entire heart and soul into them. And if we're not careful, then there's a chance that they'll slip from our soft grasps in our pear sized palms and fly away to the skies above our heads.

Then all we're left with is the experiences we had with the balloon, and that awful last thought in our minds while watching it fly away, when it was just out of our reach.

Sometimes we will be able to hold to our red balloons and take care of them until they themselves have to wither as the air leaves their lungs....
but still, even if we can't hold onto them,
there  will always be others waiting in places we would never think them to be.

Be sure to always keep your eyes open for any red balloons that might make their way into your life. You don't have to be looking for them, but you do have to have your eyes wide open to see them, closed lashes never did much for anyone from what I've experienced in my short lifetime.

I honestly hope all of the above doesn't sound like some ridiculous ramble about red balloons...
I just think that there is a lot of beauty and excitement in the world, and sometimes it’s easy to miss.

"Then what are you?'

After that it was silent and your musky scent just hovered over me as I slept in your arms. Love will remain my mystery and your knowledge, but i'm easing my way into your mind and discovering it's beauty. It bursts with vivid blues and deep oranges that swirl into a sea of yellow. You create a symphony of color with every sentence that spills from behind that wall of sparkling teeth you posess. I'm never going to live up to that. It's love but at the same time it's pure jealousy and i'm not sure wether or not that's even healthy.


Angel. You're an angel.


I remember the day I met you. I remember how I followed you and every time you pivoted around and you looked at me my eyes widened. I was fascinated by you and everything you did. I found the smallest similarites between us and it sent electric feelings through my body. You approached me, skimming your hand over your hair, and introduced yourself. I knew who you were, I knew that face and those brown eyes but I kept to myself as you smiled at me and scrambled over to the other side of the room, your body making the swiftest of movements.

You let me hold your hand and I was baffled by your open heart. 

Every time you let go my fingers recoiled and my cheeks flushed. My eyes turned from a grey to the same marble blue that they had been six months before. As if the dead had been brought to life again simply by lifting a switch.

You've got my heart in a headlock.

I still live for the electricity that you create inside me.