The children ran around twisting red ribbons attached to balloons, entangling them with each other, swapping them and creating patterns.
They eventually let the balloons go, hesitantly, with their palms still attached to the ribbons.
Fear swept their faces and they reached the air to bring them back; it was too late, they were alone now.
They watched the heavens steal the balloons, found themselves with the remnants of ribbon as a bandage for their wounds.
This reminded me of how afraid we are, to let go of the balloons that we hold, to relieve the ribbons that attach them, to untie the binds and move forward.
We’re still bound to the balloons that we let go of, we’re still holding on for dear life. We’re tied with ribbons, entwined with each other, tangling the memories of the past, present and future into one.
The balloon may have gone, but our hands become fists; the ribbon clenched.