If I don’t hold him, he’ll slip away.
He’s light, and flighty, and fragile.
I can’t simply place him under a brick to hold him down.
I must hold him. Gently.
It’s hard, being someone’s lifeline.
He loves me. He needs me. I am his joy.
He is my sprinkles. My icing. My toppings.
I am his harness. His phone charger. His water.
It’s a wonderful curse—being needed.
Balloons elicit joy, and also anxiety.
They make us happy, but oh how we fear what will happen when it leaves.
What if it pops? Who will protect them? He won’t make it!
What does one do?
When someone you hold dear,
Is holding on for dear life,
And you have to leave?