Letting Go Of Balloons

Over this weekend, I realized the importance of letters. The art of writing letters is a vastly wonderful thing. It became evident to me that it’s also a way of obtaining closure.

To me, closure is utterly vital. I often attempt to live with a gaping hole inside of me, but it’s like walking with a limp. You try to convince yourself that you’ll get used to it, and sometimes you trick yourself into thinking it’s normal, but it’s not the same.

Dear Whoever Will Read This,

I was going to write a post about a great movie I had seen over the weekend. I had it all planned in my head. But frankly, I don’t want to do it. I’m tired. I’m stressed. And yes, call me spoiled, but I want a break. I do my best as much as I can, but I often put homework before living my life. How sad is that? Terribly so.
When I was a child, I thought growing up would be amazing. Then again, who wouldn’t believe that? We watch movies with high school parties and love stories that make you believe you’re special. It makes you think, there’s something special about me. I don’t know what it is, but something is there. And then you grow up. You grow up and realize nothing is how you pictured it. It’s so much better than the movies, but it’s so much worse too.
What is the point of this letter? Well…it’s about closure. It’s about the beauty in letters that people often skim over. This letter is me saying goodbye to my childhood. How angsty, honestly. And yet, I’m still writing it. Do you ever really get to say goodbye to your childhood? It’s like a balloon in your hands. Sometimes people yank it away for themselves. Other times people just let it go. I was the latter. I watched mine float up and realize too late how much I wanted it back. My hands are empty now. They’ve grown since I’ve last held my balloon.
As we get older, we are constantly saying goodbye. Mostly to ourselves. We’re never the same person, not wholly, at least. And eventually, we forget. We forget what made us furious or the way he smelled. We forget how hard she would slap you or the sting of cruel words. We are not who we were a week, a month, a year ago. We grow and live and say goodbye without even knowing it. Is it better saying goodbye, not knowing it will be your last? Do you remember telling yourself, “Goodbye my childhood, I’ll miss you”? Most of us don’t get the chance. Most of us try to reach back when it’s too late.
But then, one day you’ll make peace with this. You will mourn the loss of your childhood as if it were a person. But it will not haunt you. The ghosts will wander old streets, barely remembering your first home. And they’ll find a niche by your favorite tree, the swingset you automatically ran to, the spot you always cried in. You are scattered across this world before you have truly lived in it.

There is more to life than merely growing up and following the path of society. It will hit you when you’re doing something terribly mundane, that the world is vast and beautiful. And to think, you haven’t seen most of it.

Dear Whoever Will Read This,
There is a wonderful life to live, regardless of the torment you are reminded of. Breathe, write a letter. It’s okay to leave a part of yourself in it. You are still you.

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