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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
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