She might as well be a balloon; filled with hot hair, floating through the clouds, going with the wind. Who says when she’ll start to descend, or perhaps even pop? All she knows is that it’s inevitable; she’s going to have to come down one day. Did you find your way alright? Were you in the dark when you found your sight? A flicker of light, a crash of thunder. The horizon had never looked any closer. The waves, the shells, the sand, the grass. Crash. Under cars, over buildings, floating on the breeze. Tumbling down the street, into a pair of miniature hands. Joy in its simplest form. Lowering one’s own self for another’s happiness.