There is a place where balloons end up after they slip out of the hands of a little girl as she gropes for the string that slowly drifts further beyond her reach. Sometimes, balloons just become untied and slowly float away until they are out of sight.
Haven't you ever wondered where balloons end up once they easily glide out of the hands of lovers, friends, families? A place where moonlight shivers as it touches lost memories and licks the sweet shining fantasies only to be infected. So beautiful, so deadly. Memories like mercury in the moonlight.
There is a place sound goes when there isn't a soul around to hear it. A place rain falls and water rushes and trees snap. The air is thick and tastes of soft violets. Mirrors reflect space and the sky expands with the blink of an eye, opening the ground beneath you to a place you never knew existed.
That is where I live.
There is no Sun here. Light comes and goes. I live in the shadows of others' light. When someone blows out a candle, the sky is lit up with a bright fiery breath that slowly fades into dust. That's how I ended up here. I was blown out, just like a candle. I was invisible to everyone but the one who destroyed me, and now I am born of the ashes that poison me. My hair ties me to this world, my skin doesn't let me leave. This is who I am.
The balloons stay for a long time. I can smell their sweet intoxicating memories. A first trip to a carnival, a celebrated birthday, the welcome of new life, the woes of an ended one. I once tried to reach for one of them, but my hand shriveled before me. I can't touch memories that aren't mine, nor can I make them. I don't know what death is. Perhaps it's where I am now. Or maybe I'm just somewhere in between, brushed off by the world like so many have been before me.
When a balloon pops, my world shifts into darkness. A current rushes through the air like the electricity on your lips of newly discovered chemistry. My heart quakes underneath my skin and for a moment, it slides out from my body and I am left a lifeless form, engulfed by a lost memory. Lately, more balloons have been popping and withering away. Forgotten memories litter the grounds, the only thing I know to call home. People are forgetting. And I'm bound to the place that pumps this life-giving poison to my veins. I wonder if this place used to be beautiful. It seems I've... forgotten...