Lingering Dreams

When I was little, I held a balloon in my hand.
A big, bright red balloon, floating so high I felt as if it would carry me away.
The balloon was filled with my dreams, lighter than air,
Brighter than the sun,
Cooler than a breeze on a summer day.
As I grew, my balloon stayed by my side.
Always tugging at my hand, as if saying “fly with me.”
But I knew I couldn’t let the balloon take me away,
Or I might never come back.
But I couldn’t let the balloon go,
Or everything I loved would disappear along with it.
I simply had to live with the balloon,
My passageway to my dreams,
And as long my feet were on the ground,
I could always return home.
Growing older and older,
Passing double digits,
My balloon started running out of air,
Dreams whispering their goodbyes,
As they were whisked away.
Though the balloon became smaller,
It tugged harder than ever.
“Let me go,” it said, “just let go already!”
I couldn’t remember why, but I knew I couldn’t let it go.
I just had to tolerate it.
My balloon’s still here,
Invisible to everyone except me.
We all have our own balloons,
Some as big as houses, some as small as pebbles.
Some weigh you down, while others you risk flying away with.
Your balloons are your dreams:
Don’t let them go, but don’t let them overcome you.
Your balloon is yours only:
Don’t lose it.






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