It is dark out. Even the tiniest sliver of moon is gone. The night air hangs quiet, still. And a kind of uneasy calm settles. I had hoped the rain would come, but something is holding it back. The world waits, with bated breath, for the tension in the sky to ease.
Like a balloon, filled taut with air, waiting for that last breath that would burst it.
I have always wondered, how many helium-filled balloons would it take to lift me off my feet?