Sometimes I wish I was a balloon filled with oxygen.
Weightless, yet displaying enough mass to come back down to earth.
Or as loose as loose-leaf.
Waiting to be inscribed with knowledge and to provide healing to a creative individual.
Both of these objects remain empty until you fill it with something.
This something always has a nemesis and it’s always near the premises.
A pen pops the balloon.
An eraser washes away the lead.
Mysterious motives led me down this path of fulfillment amidst bad examples, but the negative teachings were ample.
It was enough to show me that I need to find my other half.
The other nose, mouth, eyes, arms, and legs.
Yet something prevents me from attaining this which Zeus has separated from my flesh.
My soul yearns.
It hungers for more than the mundane meetings of everyday life.
The casual drivel escapes me, in the same manner I plan to escape the stampede of deceit.
I remain looking for the second semi-soul, the other half.
I wonder wandering, leaving the comfort zone, letting the wind carry me to my destination.
I am doing just that.
In fact I am the balloon.
Dictated by the environment, high hopes but not even close to my potential height.
So I now wish to be filled by helium.
Continuously rising until I reach my peak.
The peak arrives.
Someone ample prevents my soul from being trampled.