The sky over the festival glowed with gentle firelight as dozens of hot air balloons slowly ascended, casting warm light on the crowd below. It was the same annual celebration that brought the town together—but for me, it was a page from a memory I couldn’t put down. I stood there, alone in the crowd, watching a balloon painted with the exact designs we once admired together. The night air was filled with laughter, cheers, and the soft creak of wicker baskets lifting into the air—but I could only hear the echo of your voice. We used to talk about taking off together, leaving everything behind, soaring above the clouds like these balloons. But life tugged us in different directions—quietly, without goodbyes. And as the largest balloon lit up and lifted gracefully, I whispered into the wind: "Back then, I was there with you at that very moment... I don’t think we’ll ever get that back again... Now I just keep walking my path, missing you along the way." The wind carried it upward, along with the balloons, into a night sky that remembered everything I tried to forget.
