Once upon a one year old, a little boy fell in love with a red balloon.
It was your very first birthday party. There was a blue frosted boat cake with a candle, and singing, and presents, and the noisy joy of running children, and even Grandma. Your world was a merry one that day, hands dug into chocolate cake and ice cream, hugs from adoring family and friends. But your whole world stopped when one red balloon was snipped from the bunch and handed to you. You were hooked.
Eyes wide, face turned up, floating somewhere between awe and glee, you held on for sheer joy. It bobbed and danced, played peek-a-boo and tickled your nose, and followed you wherever you went. You wouldn’t let go.
The party faded, for this was all you ever wanted and didn’t know it till now.
Funny how perfection can sneak up on you like that. You look over your shoulder just to make sure it’s still there. It is, and you glow rosy with it.
Oh, the wonder of first love – your heart captured on a string and lifted straight up as if by magic. You hold on and on, and this is pure happiness, and why would anyone ever let go? No, nothing compares to this singular balloon. Nothing compares to the weightless delight of one year old love.