Red Balloon

Some say that writing is a muscle; it needs to be exercised. However, to me, writing is more of a reflex; it demands to be exercised. (Please excuse the somewhat contorted TFiOS reference.) I do not write for the fear of losing my ability, I write for the fear of losing myself. I write for the fear of losing my thoughts. It genuinely terrifies me when I think about all of the beautiful images I’ve seen and all of the wonderful thoughts I’ve had, and how I can’t remember the majority of them. Those moments, lost into an infinite space somewhere in my mind. Kind of like when you were a kid and you accidentally let your little red balloon slip out of your hand. That swift feeling of panic and loss, as you watched it float up into nothingness.

Life is my metaphorical red balloon. I don’t want to watch it float away, getting smaller and smaller, until I can’t even remember what it looked like. So, I write. And when I get nostalgic and sad, I look back on the things I’ve written and discover those lost memories. They make me happy and thankful, and soon I start to see that little red balloon come back to me.