I knew someone who swore he had no regrets
Posted on: 6/8/2021
i once met this man who travelled.
his sleeves smelled like damp undergrowth, airplane exhaust, and
cheap energy drinks.
inside he held a million strangers’ stories
that he’d pull out
like a magician’s cards.
this was what he said:
he said he was a balloon
among a myriad of others at some town fair
with the string broken.
from above circus tents looked like umbrellas and the people ants.
he boasted about gliding on clouds
tasting their cotton sweetness
about how stars looked better scattered on an airplane’s window.
i met him again today
although his sleeves were stained with cigarette smoke, blood stain,
and
maybe alcohol.
they still hid pieces from strangers
only now they were all eulogies, and
suicide notes.
his face only crumpled like a worn and creased world map so i read
in his eyes:
he said he was a balloon
among a myriad of others at some town fair
with the string broken
and no one chased after him.
because
clouds didn’t taste so sweet after all,
they were only condensed water.
if you lay on them you would
fall right
through.