Army of Ink Held On A String

DIARIES balloon girl

Held on a string .   

I stretch to forever with the very tips of my fingers.  Way up high to a place where everything falls away.  Just me and nothing.   Nothing and me.  Then I let go.   Fell into a place much harder than my story.   It hurt.  Not from the fall.  From landing in things I didn’t know were still there.   Now my fingers ache for the place where everything falls away .   I fight to soothe fiddling fingers still .   Lock them in lap.   Far less than the place they long for .    Much more for being held in a place I believe I have a chance to hold.     

Footnote:  This ink for me personally is about addiction.  I’ll openly admit alcohol for me.  Pass it on, with sensitivity, to all the balloon holders you know …