I reached out to grab you with my short, stubby fingers, but all I grasped was the light that you left in your wake.
You are a balloon, filled to the brim with the heaviest helium and I am so small.
I fall short of the ribbon you extended me; leaving your words for the wind and your warmth for the sun.
The higher you float away, the heavier the atmosphere become and the reality sets in.
You’re flying away, casually, floating to a world I am not a part of and my feeble arms cannot extend to your heights.
They can’t even graze you.
My arms are useless and my words prove futile, but my short arms continue flailing in desperation and my mouth continues to spout senseless noises.
But neither of these things can pierce the atmosphere to reach the heights that you have reached.
So I am stuck here, with my feet firmly on the ground, chained to my own morality.
Simply wishing I was a balloon.