If I would follow my own heart it would be as if chasing a balloon in
flight. Clinging to a thin string with clutched fists while being
smacked on the head by a inflated rubber ball. I see big things in store
for me, but I can't find the air to take me there.
Off in the
distance is a skyline so beautiful and right now, a fairy tale only in
my head. I'm in my thirties and still chasing fairy tales and soap opera
plots, I should write for daytime television since my imagination is so
vivid and Emmy worthy.
Who in their right mind is married for seven
years and still hopes for some romantic diversion to take place? Who
else thinks divorce is the answer?
It is
tough to be a sensitive writer with all these emotions inhaled and
exhaled. I know the shakiness that I stand on, not sure how to calm the
anger of the ground wanting to take me down.
Even
if a dalliance occurred or I moved to a big city, it wouldn't stop the
balloon from shaking violently and longing for the skies. The balloon is
me as of late. Shuffling and bopping within the wind's movements. It is
erratic and longing to be free.
Yet the funny thing, when the
passionate breeze dies down, It descends back to earth, where my brain
meets it. I'm just not that impetuous even though I fantasize about
different outcomes. I miss excitement and fireworks.
The crazy
thing is a horoscope once said I love the thrill of the chase. It is so
true! I have been brain washed by soap operas and love ballads. I long for
fancy affairs and glitzy social events. I love the romance of New York
City. The one pined for magically shows up and kisses you on light
colored lips. The softness of wet mouths touching and falling deep into
the moment.
This is reality, complication
and uncertainty everyday. I despise those who are happy all the time
because I don't think I ever experience that. Once, I want unrestricted
happiness. It seems so silly, like a kid chasing after loose balloon on a windy day,
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