What's in a cup?

"Do you still think of me sometimes?", he asked. How can I answer that? I received balloons on my birthday from a friend. The balloons say Happy Birthday. A lot of time has elapsed since my birthday, but the balloons are still round. They are not as full as on my actual birthday, but I am amazed that they have lasted this long. Some days I come home and wonder if I should pop them and throw them away, but then I ask myself, is there anything wrong with holding onto something that made me happy, even for just a moment? So I leave them hanging in my room for another day. At what point should I say, it's been long enough, you can stop celebrating? Actually now they remind me how quickly time passes by, and yet they are like science experiments to me. How long does a blown-up balloon last? When will I stop having feelings for you? When will I stop thinking about you? Perhaps it is time to pop the balloons.

Kick out beauty and the brain kicks in. It is funny I say without laughing to explain how this feels. By this I mean my age. I no longer look the same. My beauty got swept away. Sure there are remnants, but it is not the same. Youth is leaving the building. Now I stand in an empty hallway and the door I assumed I'd enter one day is closing. I can almost hear the click. Then I will never enter that room of having a child and building a family and having a heritage, together with someone, no great legacy to look back on. If indeed that door should close, I will then either still experience love and commitment but in a dual mode or I will commit my life to some thing and not someone. For life. I never thought I would be in this hallway. I thought the doors would stay open forever. There are many rooms that can be entered and are worth exploring. I need to turn my face away from the expected norm and move toward the unknown, where perhaps I will be alone, but ...

Already I am suffering with broken bones. Already I am dealing with my broken heart. Leave my mind alone! Let me have strength in one part of me. Brokenness has left me open with many cracks people can see. The Japanese cover their broken pottery with gold that beautifies their creativity. As for me, please preserve a part of me from fate of bad luck and inadequacy. Please protect me from further loss of everything I hold deep inside of me that seeks expression yet fears oppression. Already I am broken but not crushed. Already I am standing up for what I feel, think and believe. Already I am fixing what can be fixed and accepting all the other dirt that comes upon my beaten track. I will not remain broken. My bones are gaining in strength. My heart is healing and will be restored. My mind is developing and reconnecting. My spirit soars high into the heavens. Who knew humanity would be so hard?