this morning #1844.

this morning, a deflated bouquet of mylar balloons still dangled down off of the back porch railing. barely bouncing in the breeze. the two words—HAPPY BIRTHDAY—had turned inward, their message mostly obscured. all week long, the air seeped out as the sentiment faded away, leaving the deserted decorations in a suspended state. we hadn’t gone back since that fateful day. too painful. for me, at least. she also chose to stay away but i had no idea if our reasons were the same. the chaos came far too fast. whiplash from cold beer & singalong songs to sudden screams & splotches of blood covering the lawn. eventually, we’ll have to return but neither of us wants to be the one who has to clean up the scene.