Girl #7

I love the way that you hold balloons and the fact that I always know you’re in the room. I love the way that you descend the stairs, pause on the landing to perfect your hair, and continue to move like I’m not standing there. There’s a river I drove over the other night and I looked in the water from over the side and heading downstream was a small unlit boat with one unlit man wearing one unlit coat and I saw his breath smoking over his head as I raced down the freeway and thought of the dread that dark waters hold when you’re cold and alone. I wondered where that man could ever make home and I knew the ice must’ve frozen his soul. But the rest of the largely forgettable drive, I thought of balloons and your other lives and right then I knew that there’ll always be you: icy like water, too dark to see through.

The connection, I guess, with the man on the boat is to show that even the best balloons won’t stay inflated or even worse, not hesitate to drift into space when let go of a hand. Now I understand.

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~ by perfectionatrix on December 7, 2008.

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