I have a phobia of balloons—and other sharp objects. I also have a fear of too much love—giving, not getting.

I had a dream about you making balloon animals for kids. You were out of balloons and the kids were out of patience, so you inflated their imaginations instead.

For grief has always been so dear to you that you would make me writhing in pain in the brothel of your imaginations than to be playing with a bunch of balloons in the yard...

Being forgiven is like having all the worst bits of yourself stuffed into a balloon and then having that balloon set free.