Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Memory (07/10/08)
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TITLE: Floating Breezes | Previous Challenge Entry
By Becca Gossman
07/11/08 -
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The balloons became memories as they floated upon the breeze, and I came to realize that balloons are like memories. They can float away, they can be pushed away, or they can be released. If a balloon is never blown up then it is hardly noticed. They are only noticeable if they are blown up in their full glory and floating in front of those around. Then, they have to be noticed: the colors, the brightness and the impact. Balloons, like memories, can be popped and ripped into a thousand little pieces or they can cheer you up with every step you take.
The balloons reminded me of birthdays, and other special occasions; birthdays of ones who have passed on, and children’s faces as they hold tightly onto their balloons. And, the balloons brought up memories that were better left inside of a drawer in my mind that could never to be opened, closed off from the hot, searing pain that dwelt below the surface.
Some of the balloons were pretty. But, I have seen some that were ugly. I’ve seen balloons that were twisted into different shapes; my memories could also be twisted into shapes. My Memories can take on the shape of pretty little poodles, or dainty animals, or like the balloon they could be twisted into dinosaurs, ugly beasts and beasts of prey. Beasts that feed upon sorrowful memories forcing me to remember the painful things that I wished I could forget.
I sat for hours and watched as the balloons danced and played upon the breeze. The ones that were filled with helium floated endlessly, held on by a string so that it would not fly away. I have seen a helium balloon float endlessly until eventually it dwindled to almost nothingness and all that was left of it was a small memory of what it used to be.
I have memories that over time faded until I felt almost guilty for not remembering anymore. That guilt hung over me in much the same way as the guilt when I accidentally let my small child’s birthday balloon fly off. The guilt diminished after awhile and things returned to normal, but now as I watched the memory reoccurred and the guilt came back heavy once again.
I watched as someone tried to blow up a balloon until it could contain no more air and then watched as it exploded in their face causing stinging pain. My memories hurt in the same way. Sometimes, I think, there has to be a stopping point somewhere. Sometimes, I need to set limits and only remember the happy times. Otherwise, my mind becomes haunted once again and I have to carefully place them back into the drawer, or a tie a knot to stop them from expanding any further, so that what I recall would be just enough. The memories are pleasant, they are pretty, they are sufficient.
Last week I pulled a beautiful red balloon out of my drawer that had been there since the last occasion of celebration: my baby’s second birthday party. I looked at, I thought about how beautiful it would be in its fullest capacity, to hold it once again. I began to stretch the balloon and placed it on my lips, and I began to blow the balloon up. It became bigger and bigger and bigger. I stopped a moment, and I looked at it, and it was beautiful. I didn’t want to stop, I wanted to continue to blow it up until it was the biggest balloon I had ever seen, but I couldn’t. Because, you see, it hit its limit and it exploded in my face, and the tears began to fill my eyes, and I could not stop them, they flowed freely, not because of the balloon I had lost, but because I had not stopped the memories.
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