The girl that was afraid of the cold once said,
"When you are around, I feel too full,
But when you go, I am hollow."
So am I a balloon meant to be filled with air and
Destined to float away?
Am I a shell, left empty after the living thing inside goes?
Or am I a flask, containing whole drink which revives?
But am I a bulb, ready to break free
At any moment
With light and petals?