And then she knew just what to do, she would come here. Here, to reach him, here, in the place that only they knew. She breathed out and slowed down and wished for him to do the same.

The balloon was exquisite. It beamed out light even on the darkest days and she would pull down the red ribbon by which it was tethered and bring it close up to her face. She looked inside.

And all of their moments swirled and danced inside like the rainbow colours on a soap bubble and it calmed her. She held it close like a new-born in her arms, like a precious thing to be cherished, to take care of, to be loved. And it was. And it is. And it will be.

Here, in her chair near the end of the year and if she listened she could feel him reading her words, hoping that she’d reached him. The balloon bobbed, followed her wherever she went, never left her side, as she would never leave his.

She’d come here, that’s what she’d do, for as long as it takes. And in the quiet she watched the balloon softly moving, tender, patient, compassionate.

A prayer between them.

Always.