Story?

Oh it was a nice evening, perfect for a stroll. There were trees on either sides, like cliched philosophical and metaphorical representations. That little girl is walking with a balloon, looking at the clouds slowly scattering away, smiling. She was smiling, okay? Not the clouds. Not the clouds.

Did I tell you that the balloon was red? Who cares, right? What’s in her hand matters not the colours. We’re not materialistically racist are we? Nope.

So this girl was walking on her own, under the skies, amidst the woods with a muddy road penetrating through, leading to nowhere. Nowhere because that’s how you portray the pointlessness of life, alright? I keep losing track of this girl. Where is she?

Yeah! There she is. Walking.

A sudden surge of wind shook everything from their roots but there she stood, still staring at the sky as the balloon floated further away, up and up into the air. Sadness isn’t her thing though; she knew the balloon would come down soon. She just didn’t know where.

No matter what we do, no matter how hard we hold on to something, it will slip away. You can stop, stare and let go. That’s all.

That is all.