Concerning balloons and the thing that keeps them
* concerning balloons and the thing that keeps them up (title couldn't fit)
A lilt thing occupied the confines of my head, and since I think it smaller than the average man's it gave a resounding ping whenever it hit against my ear. The thing that bounced, deflected, jumped, or somehow managed to zoom about jangled me, as much as the concept of what it was. So my first thought was: it must have been a thought, a preconceived notion of an which has not been born yet, urging to be cut from the unconscious to the living breathing world of uttered consciousness. An artery to an umbilical cord to a navel, it simply sprouts or in this case becomes inadvertently an inverted tip of an inflated balloon. Floating in the sky, held only by a thin white string, easily cut, easier when drenched in sweat, that it only becomes an air filled ball of rubber, bobbing along the ceiling along with the other old wrinkled ones, that you forget whose birthday it was, and in the end as you leave the room you forget that it's even there.