There's a yellow balloon lolling on the ground next to my bed that has been distracting me for quite a while now. It's growing smaller and smaller as the air rushes out of a knot which has being doing a pretty decent job over the past two days.

I like the balloon. One of my friends had painstakingly written all six of our names on it and I like reading the names. They are such nice names. Isn't it lovely how nice people always have nice names? They are brilliant people and I don't know why the balloon doesn't understand that. Doesn't it realize it's shrinking? And taking my friends away with it?

I've tried to stop it, but I can't seem to. Aren't I worthless? I can't even stop a little yellow balloon from dying.
Don't die, old thing. I'd hate it if you did. Don't you know how much you're worth? Don't die, old thing. Not today, at least. Maybe tomorrow- if you have to. I'll be stronger then. I'll take it better. Tomorrow, perhaps. But not today. Stay on, old thing. You might just like it here.