Patches & Prisons Of The Heart

MissMuppet · Patches & Prisons Of The Heart

Patches & Prisons Of The Heart
By Tana Lynn

When we were children, life handed us each a balloon.
"Choose one" life said. I picked a blue one. Blue like
the sky, the ocean; and I added a touch of pink like
the sunset.

"Choose one" life said. You chose your favorite
colour - black.

Because we were not yet capable, life generously
filled our balloons with helium. Together we soared
through life's skies. Fascinated, we watched the
clouds gather and felt the coolness of the rain. Then
the thunder and lightning started. We panicked. But
when my fear subsided, I knew that I would stay. Take
my chances. You, on the other hand, found a crystal
clear bottle and sealed yourself away. No one will be
the wiser you thought so while I floated through
life's skies and felt the chill of winter and the
warmth of summer, you stayed in a constant mediocrity.

Then one day it happened, my balloon was popped. I
fell swiftly to the ground. "Look," you said, "I am
safe and you have foolishly been beaten." You must
have been amazed when I patched my balloon with
brightly coloured thread and filled it with a potent
helium from within. This time I was a little bigger, a
little stronger and I soared a little higher. Were you
jealous?

Through the years, my balloon has been bruised, torn,
punctured. Always I deflate. Always I fall to the
ground. Always I patch myself. Sometimes I remove old
patches to find that they have healed once open
wounds. And all that is left is a small scar. But I
treasure my scars, and I expose them proudly for they
prove that I have taken chances; but more importantly,
I have recovered from my falls.

One day I looked for you. For a moment I was filled
with envy. While I was patching my balloon, yours was
safe, secure. But then I noticed that the crystal
clear glass of your childhood had faded. The wind,
rain and summer sun had stained and marred the only
view you had to the world.

Carefully, I cleared a place on your bottle and tried
to reach you. But you alone could let me in. You
wouldn't; or perhaps you couldn't. This effort added
yet another patch to my balloon. But as always, I
coloured it brightly-this time inscribing your name.
Before I left to again travel life's skies, I
scratched my name on your bottle. As much as it hurt,
I had to return to the wind, rain and blue-black air.

Perhaps some day, if you free yourself, you will drift
to my unpredictable skies. I will gladly meet you half
way. I realize you don't have the power to fly to my
heights, but I could teach you. If you free yourself,
I will gladly meet you half way.

But for now, I can only wonder how the world looks
through a scratched and rain-stained prison.

Tell me my love, where are your patches? Your scars?
And what will you do when the misty glass turns black
and your bottle is sealed. Forever

Hecateh

That's lovely.

I certainly cherish my scars and patches - at least I do once they have healed a bit along the way. I can't imagine life without them!

And I'm sure I've a few more to gather yet.

Nannyp

moving and more moving I think because you have posted it, and it's good to read something with such positive ideals from you.

MissMuppet

I saw this on the other forum I belong too and thought it was the sort of thing you lot would like... hehe!

Stop crying Mother!

Guest

Wow, that's really powerful! Thanks for sharing it, Jo.