On my thirty-fifth birthday, I was walking alone on an empty street.
An old man selling balloons stopped me. He said he still had the last two and asked me if I wanted to buy them for my child.
I don't have children. But I bought it. Red, the most old-fashioned kind.
That night, I had a very long dream.
I'm seventeen again.
Father is still alive. Grandma was still scolding Grandpa in the kitchen for not helping. There is the first thermos cup I gave him in the corner, but he was reluctant to use it.
I know what will happen in forty days.
I tried again and again to stop the thing.
Later I realized that some people are not meant to be kept - they are meant to be said goodbye to properly.
Intention: The love that is too late to express and the gifts that are reluctant to be used are the source of moisture for the rest of life. And moisture can grow things.