Balloon

There is a tugging at my sleeves where I had placed so gently the list of reasons why this time it would be alright to tred precariously into the stupid beauty people had ached and gleamed about. There is a circle drawn around me and it is nearly complete. There is the shadow of grayness arched over my being. There is the sound of a clock ticking and the alarming scratches of strikes driven across a mental board. We're 5 times in and I struggle to sew things up.

But it's alright.
Because you think so.

There is a tugging at my sleeves where I had placed so gently the list of reasons that had popped slowly out of its seams into the hungry mouth of grayness that arched over my being wrapped in a circle within itself so nothing is left and everything is empty. We're 10 times in and you're fading.

But it's alright.
Because I think so.