Patches & Prisons of the Heart

By Tana Lynn

When we were children, Life handed each of us a balloon.

“Choose one” life said. I picked a blue one. Blue like the sky, the ocean; and I added a touch of pink like the sunset.

“Choose one” life said. You chose your favorite color — black. Because we were not yet capable, Life generously filled our balloons with helium. Together we soared through life’s skies.

Fascinated, we watched the clouds gather, felt the coolness of the rain. Then the thunder and lightning started. We panicked. But when my fear subsided, I knew that I would stay, take my chances.

You, on the other hand, found a crystal clear bottle and sealed yourself away. No one will be the wiser you thought, so while I floated through life’s skies and felt the chill of winter and the warmth of summer, you stayed in a constant mediocrity…

Then one day it happened, my balloon was popped. I fell swiftly to the ground.

“Look,” you said, “I am safe and you have foolishly been beaten.”

You must have been amazed when I patched my balloon with brightly colored thread and filled it with a potent helium from within. This time I was a little bigger, a little stronger and I soared a little higher…were you jealous?

Through the years, my balloon has been bruised, torn, punctured. Always I deflate. Always I fall to the ground. Always I patch myself. Sometimes I remove old patches to find that they have healed once open wounds…and all that is left is a small scar. But I treasure my scars, and I expose them proudly for they prove that I have taken chances; but more importantly, I have recovered from my falls…

One day I looked for you. For a moment I was filled with envy. While I was patching my balloon, yours was safe, secure. But then I noticed that the crystal clear glass of your childhood had faded. The wind, rain and summer sun had stained and marred the only view you had to the world.

Carefully, I cleared a place on your bottle and tried to reach you. But you alone could let me in. You wouldn’t; or perhaps you couldn’t. This effort added yet another patch to my balloon. But as always, I colored it brightly — this time inscribing your name. Before I left to again travel life’s skies, I scratched my name on your bottle. As much as it hurt, I had to return to the wind, rain and blue-black air….perhaps some day, if you free yourself, you will drift to my unpredictable skies.

I realize you don’t have the power to fly to my heights, but I could teach you. If you free yourself, I will gladly meet you half way…but for now, I can only wonder how the world looks through a scratched and rain-stained prison…

Tell me my love, where are your patches? your scars? And what will you do when the misty glass turns black and your bottle is sealed…forever?