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
