Words from an Insomniac still trying to find her way

This balloon means something…right?

I own this balloon.

Even on a windy day, I carry this precious fragile balloon.

It was given to me on the day of my conception.

I carry it when it rains, when the sun is at its brightest, when the air is at its darkest. I carry it with me always.

I tie it to my bed post every night before I drift off to sleep. It is with me in the shower in my car on the way to work.

And its weight is heavier than that of my body.

This balloon is not a perfect circle. Its shape is imperfect, but its radiance is brilliant.

I try to take very good care of it. Really I do.

But some days I fear for this balloon.

Especially when it is close to being nothing.

When it is squeezed from both sides, when it is pushed to the side. When it doesn’t know whether to go left or right.

Some days I believe it is slowly deflating, but most days I believe it can last forever.

Even if I’m still getting old.

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