Balloons

There are balloons we hold as children. Grand, ornamental dreams cast into the air to float above our heads held by simple string. Most balloons are invisible. Only their holder knows of their existence. Some are wishes. However, all balloons are made of the unspeakable hopes of a heart, breathed into life by visions of what we want to be. And we carry them with us for years.

Before I knew you, I carried many balloons. I wondered when I would start living the life I created in my head. Before I knew you, I didn't stop to remark upon what a lovely day it was. Before I knew you, I wouldn’t cover my eyes with my hands to hide personal imperfections.

Before I knew you, I was a wanderer. I had no home and didn’t want one. Homes were built on inflexible foundations that I never had. The changing weather was a more constant companion.

Before I knew you, my reality existed in books. Before I knew you, I displayed every knick-knack, wore all my jewelry, and bought clothes on a whim – just because I wanted to look pretty.

Before I knew you, I spent many hours doing absolutely nothing.

Before I knew you, I didn’t pay attention to caterpillars crossing the sidewalk. Before I knew you, I rushed across the street, into stores and through my life without considering why I was in such a hurry.

Before I knew you, my heart was whole yet somehow empty, filled with air and dreams. That was, before I knew you.

Then, somewhere along the way, I released those fragile balloon ribbons into the air. One by one, each were unwound from my childlike grip.

In my hands were placed other things to hold: a heartbeat pulsing through our palms during the first moments of marriage; the tight grasp of a tiny fist as he struggled to take in his new surroundings; the soft grey muzzle of my childhood dog as I told her goodbye; a heavy, sky blue stone reflecting light from my grandmother’s hand to mine; the cool metal key turning to unlock a house door; the bleached cotton sheets twisted and tear-stained upon my mother’s hospital bed.

I still hold on to a few balloons. I leave enough room, however, to reach out to you. You are the creation that my heart couldn’t dream into being. I carry you most carefully of all.