I used to wear the pink of my daughter when I was her age.
Now, I wear black as I squeeze her chubby digits in mine.
I am not in mourning or trying to look thinner or more cosmopolitan.
I just slowly lost my knack for color.
Black, neutrality, blankness seeped in as I went into auto-pilot after having our first baby.
At the Dogwood Festival Carnival, we spy a woman with a balloon mountain floating above her head.
I remember the thrill of my mother tying the balloon’s string to my wrist.
Maybe, I will buy one for my daughter. Pink.
Maybe, I will buy one for myself. Pink.
photo prompt by pixabay.com