06.30.05

i'm wishing (echo)

I never liked getting helium balloons. Even when I was a child, I felt it was such an honour, yet what to do? There was only one thing to be done, for it to dance under the constant swirling air in my room, to waltz with me when I fancied, and to slowly spend itself, floating homewards to the matted brown carpet.
My carpet has always been a matted brown, except for one night when I cried on the floor under the comforter listening to the not sounds of boats knocking up against their steel captors.
I would wake up at night frightened; half scared because the gently moving balloon looked all the world to me like a tall man with my sleep ridden eyes, and half disappointed because, as the sleep left I knew it was not. That never stopped me from dancing, like Cinderella in the forest, as if my prince had really come only he wasn�t a very good dancer. Then the face world turn �round to the reflective surface and I�d see me, eyes so wide and hoping so earnestly�
Then what to do as it fell? Watch it die a painful death? Put it out of it misery? It would hold it between my knees as stab with a pair of scissors, always hoping for a satisfying pop or even stream of blood but there was only a slight deflation. Even as I sucked the helium from my prince charming, no fun, my voice remained the same as ever.

shi-ou-sama at 5:33 p.m.

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