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Balloon

A soul has certain kind of mass. Like the pressure between your fingers when someone holds your hands very tightly. Or like the good scented pillow you’re covering your head with when you’re crying. As light as the constant rhythm of his breath that annoys you in the middle of the night, and as heavy as his arms around your tiny waist when you really want to be alone.

The mass of another soul in your heart sometimes feels like a burden on your shoulder, sort of. But in a good way. At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. Like the heavy bag pack you’re carrying everywhere just to feel safe – to make believe that someone always has your back, protecting you all the time. When actually, it’s just you on your own.. and the bag?

That mass anchoring your light being from losing yourself to the rain and storm. Putting your feet on the ground. Living a real life.

That other soul.

You have no idea how much it weighs until it’s gone. The absence makes you float with no direction like a big balloon with a tiny hole that loses its control little by little until all the air inside runs out, and then falls on the ground abruptly though it doesn’t shock you, you’ve expected it. Air-less – breathless. You lose your ‘burden’. Now it’s just you and your nothingness. You fade. It’s alright but it hurts.

It hurts in your gut, like it’s being horribly squashed. That same feeling, in your heart. Somewhere in your head. In your bladder. Between the muscles of your arms and your back where you have no idea how the muscle structures look like over there. And your knees feel weak, you just wanna go to sleep. And dream.

Before you close your eyes, you try to breathe slowly, telling yourself that everything will be fine. Telling yourself, good night. For another day tomorrow.

And you’ll do that every single day until it doesn’t matter anymore.

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