bubbles

I am a bubble. A bubble, floating in the air, ready to burst and disintergrate if something should touch me.

I am a bubble, floating high up in the sky, having reached this height by the help of a human hand or by the wind.

I am a bubble, pleased to be so high in the sky, watching life pass by below me, looking at the scenery below, glad to be held so high. Being high in the sky is what I, as a bubble, would like most to do.

But then, the hand that is holding me disappears. The wind blowing me high up is still. And I drop, faster and lower down on to the ground. I am reaching the ground. I am dropping down onto reality.

And I burst, upon reaching reality. Upon reaching the ground.

I am a bubble. Fragile little thing, glad to be held so high one day, only to be dropped the next day, breaking me, bursting me into tiny invisible pieces of air.

I am a bubble.

Reality bites.