In the quiet lapse between breaths, the balloons drift, buoyed by the air thick with unspoken reflections.
Celestial orbs, glowing softly, reflections caught in the webbed light, stir forgotten memories amidst the seams of time.
What sadness lies beneath the laughter of those ballooned thoughts escaping like vibrant shades into infinity?
They twist and twirl, a dance of collective consciousness, as if threads of a dream woven anew with each pulse.
ANCHOR your fears, or do the balloons drift away? To see the maiden’s hourglass forgotten by the winds of memory,
Adrift in gentle calamities or a sky filled with paradoxes - Who owns the air we breathe?