You said I am like that feeling you get from letting go of a balloon,
and watching it drift until it’s color vanishes.
At first, it crushed me that you compared me
to something that makes children cry and had broken my heart since I was little.
Then I listened to you explain how releasing one feels:
euphoric, freeing, light, and comforting.
So, now I run with scissors,
pouncing on the strings in any kid’s hands,
standing back and shielding my eyes while I watch disappear into a blue oblivion.
Squeals squeaked their way through pink chapped lips whenever I spotted one,
since I couldn’t articulate the feeling of knowing that’s me to you.