Every July I would release a purple balloon
Because it was your favorite color – it was mine too.
I had always hoped it might pass by your window
As you reached 37,000 feet. I would watch it float away
As quickly as our two weeks of summer together.

The sun would paint our cheeks red and you thought it was funny
Because it matched the tattered Speedo I always wore.
We laid out on my dock watching the clouds morph into animals
In the baby blue afternoon sky. Our early March birthdays
Had us convinced we were fish, so we stayed in the lake
Until the bright yellow sun sank behind the mountains.

You would tell me “Even though we won't be together,
We can still be best friends.” I believed you because we pinky promised.
At the end of each short-lived summer we would sit on your bed
And t-shirts and mix-matched socks into your green duffle bag.
I discovered what the word melancholy meant the first summer
You left to visit your dad in Orange County.

End of August is when you're supposed to come home from the Golden State,
But not this time. Childhood memoriesgather into a storm of tears
As the last balloon slips out of my hand. I watch it float away
As quickly as our ten years of being together. “We can still be best friends,”
I whisper as the purple balloon follows you to your new home.