My Love is like a balloon.
Wait. That's not enough to describe it.
My Love is like a balloon that has been, for whatever reason, let loose into the open sky. Let's say that I hold my Love in my hand. It's in the form of a balloon, and its connection to me is tenuous (it's held to my person only by means of a ribbon). At first, it's grounded; under control.
When someone special comes along I slowly begin to lose my grasp on the ribbon. I may let go of it quickly, or slowly, but eventually my grasp is not firm enough to hold onto my Love; my balloon. It sets off into the abyss of the open sky. What does it see? What does it experience? It rises quickly; perhaps too quickly, but Love is difficult to manage. It doesn't want to be managed. It runs rampant. It draws the "oohs!" and "ahhs!" of all that see it as it progresses, getting higher, and more intense.
But as it gets higher, more pressure is put upon it. The Love starts to experience its true test. What once was magical and mysterious quickly (almost instantly) comes to an end: the balloon implodes from too much pressure and falls swiftly to the unsuspecting earth below. No one ever sees it happen, but they know that it will; they know as soon as they see that balloon escape my grasp. The problem is that my grip gets firmer with each balloon that escapes me.
As I write this, a red balloon floats past my view of the city landscape, keeping a consistent altitude. I think that person's Love will make it.
