Rising Baloon

When it comes to losing, is there something called better way to lose? After all loss is a loss.

My son is still small but growing. He still walks between my legs and laughs as if he appeared after an innocent disappearing act. Walking through one of the not busy lane when not a weekend, he tapped my hand, pointing the other at a balloon standing high in the air. I stood much taller than me on an unseen string. Without a word of hesitation, I made them both happy, the balloon seller and more importantly my son.

Balloon weightlessly hovered along with us, that the string was wound around his little fingers. I dint give much of an attention to the bubble like happiness of his. World seemed to be too small for him, that the balloon stood that high, and still trying to grow higher.

During the short drive to our house, he played with balloon that was a hand distance held by the low roof of our car. As my son stepped out of the car, the unknowingly unwound string slipped past his soft fingers and balloon grew taller, going higher up in wide open sky carrying along the unseen string that was once in his hand.

For a balloon that would love much shorter than my son, an inevitable loss that it will be. Should I say he lost it too early? He sat on the ground till the balloon grew smaller which soon was lost in the blueness of the cloud absent sky.

That my son dint lose the high rising balloon by bursting or itself shrinking without a choice, I lied, “That balloon will fly forever.”

With a smile of loss, which is too early for him to understand, he held my hand and walked in. After all was it better way to lose?

I am not sure how long the balloon is gonna fly. A loss that it is….