When I was taking a stroll rearward in the thoroughfare of life, I happened upon a girl from the foregone days
She held the string of a balloon and her eyes glinted with euphoria.
She looked at me with an expression I knew well, perhaps reckoned I was a stranger
But was I?
I held her by her hand and took her for the stroll with me, her other hand yet firmly holding the balloon.
She wore a constant grin in her countenance and I wondered when I had last seen that grin.
I enquired her if she was content with life, though I knew the response.
Contentment was all she had, for she was oblivious to what the ensuing days had in for her.
But I wasn't, I knew that as the years wear by, she'd break down at the witching hour,
Her grin would grow few and far between.
She ceased walking as the balloon string in her hand broke and the balloon made it's own way up.
"That's the first thing you lose," I speak to her.
She looked at me, the familiar expression yet on the countenance, perhaps reckoned the stranger was a lunatic.
But was I a stranger?
Was I not her? Was she not me from the bygone days?