she likes to blow bubbles

she likes to blow really big bubbles and let them escape

none have popped on her face yet

the smaller ones she lets ascend watching their pearlescence against the sun or moonlight  she prefers the moonlight  her bubbles give the moon a run for its money

the large bubbles laboring to gain altitude  ponderously   she harpoons impatiently stabs them   shriveling they slowly fall to the ground

that ground is his carpet

she releases them with bravado

then secondguessing herself she stabs them

they collapse sighing desperate on his floor

he used to think he could save them patch them uprevitalise their intentions

he found that to be useless

he patched them with his material  but his material wasnt what they needed to survive

miserable he watches them collapse on themselves deflate her sweet meaningful breath filling the room

he kneels to be closer to their breach

he touches them assures them as they shrink quivering

when they utterly collapse he picks them up carries them outside and burns them in a firepit

they were well-intended

he took solace in their good intentions

she meant well

she simply lacked conviction confidence  which only she can give herself

she agreed with him

however stepping forward she couldnt help herself  and stepped back

it used to frustrate him

but he learned to appreciate their course her intent

currently her intent wasnt enough

she isnt brave enough

she could bewill be

eventually

he was patient

another skill he developed that she hadnt

one day

one day

until then her bubbles are cartoon balloons  like those found in the funny pages or in pulp comicbooks destine for the firepit

1405,  Sunday,  4  6. 17

1530,  Monday,  5  6. 17