It’s a bubble, hollow and warm. You crawl in it, walk in it, naked or not, when you’re a small child.
It’s your home, it’s your world, you’re always in it, lucid, round and light, no matter where or what.
if you want to grow, the means is a touch, and when you want it smaller, it shrinks down to your size.
No more a kid now, you’ve blown your bubble larger, making a balloon of it, bouncing up and down the ground.
exuberant and alive, living in this balloon was, surfing the earth and the skies, landing on others and other’s as is falling in love.
It’s so fun you keep touching it, making it so large, like the world itself: bouncy and round, vast and full of charm.
to the time it’s too large, you cannot see it. Not seeing it, you don’t touch it, you don’t think you want, you don’t even try.
You don’t try, and you don’t want to try. Don’t want to try and you forget. you forget and you die.
