I remember once when I was six we came home from the carnival and my balloon slipped through my fingers. Tears leaked from my eyes but you said, “Don’t worry. Now it’s free.” Then you let go of your own. “And now it has a friend, too.” You looked at me, your blue eyes squinting into that smile-inducing grin. We looked up at our balloons floating away with the carnival lanterns and your hand held mine and I knew you would always be there.

Except you weren’t. I still miss you, as two months go by. I miss our swing-side chats and lengthy debates. Sometimes I look down at my hands and begin to choke, as the spaces between my fingers, where yours once snugly fit, bring back memories of sunny days and rainy nights together that I now spend alone.

Other times when I drive past a carnival, I feel this urge to wander in. I walk in, buy a balloon, then walk back out into the cool evening air.
I let my balloon slip from my fingers and whisper “Now you’re free” and wait for your reply in silence.