I tie my life to your balloon and let it go

I+tie+my+life+to+your+balloon+and+let+it+go

Frayed at the edges, the green ribbon tied around my wrist is too thin. The once clean bow, with the ties curled, is now a knot. A tangled, loose knot. The balloon attached the frayed ribbon and the loose knot floats limply. 

The edges are frayed. And the ribbon is too loose around my wrist. And the balloon is deflated. 

I thought it would stay with me forever, my balloon—how naive of me. Balloons aren’t forever. They always float away. No matter what I do, I can’t get them to stay. 

I tied the green one, my favorite one, to my wrist. I knew it would deflate. I knew the edges of the ribbon would fray. But the vicious simplicity of wrapping the woven string around my wrist and methodically tying a clean bow—curled edges and all—was enough. Enough to delay the deflation. 

But I know that tying balloons to my wrist just delays the inevitable departure. They all float away eventually. 

I tie my life to your balloon and let it go. — “Warm Foothills” by Alt-J”

Frayed at the edges, the green ribbon tied around my wrist is too thin. I’m losing my balloon; I can feel the ribbon weakening by the day. I can’t do anything to save it, to inflate it, to strengthen it. My balloon is running out of air, and so am I.

My green balloon was special. It is special. I was skeptical, hesitant, of it at first; I didn’t want to get attached to something that would just float away. Because I know they always do. But, regardless, I tied it. 

I tied it to my wrist, and since then, I’ve felt the air escape. The balloon mimics my every exhale. 

So I sometimes hold my breath. When I think about how empty, how bare, I’ll feel without my green balloon tied to my wrist, I hold my breath so that no air will escape from it; I want it to remain floating for just one day longer. 

But my balloon is running out of air, and so am I. 

When the remaining pockets of air, of life, depart, I don’t want to just discard it—leave it amongst the other lifeless shells. 

I’m returning it where I found it. It’s going home—right where it belongs. 

I’m going to tie my balloon to yours, because, frayed at the edges, the green ribbon tied around my wrist is too thin. I’m carrying too much weight on such a thin ribbon; it’s time to return my balloon back home. 

It’s the weight of us that has frayed the ribbon. It’s the weight of us that has deflated the balloon. It’s the weight of us that has devoured my—my balloon’s—air.

So I’m tying my balloon to yours so you can feel it, too. Holding your own breath as you watch your ribbon fray, day by day. 

I tie my life to your balloon and let it go. 

But I’m still gasping for air.