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.