"I love bubbles,” I said. You asked if I really did. “I mean, who doesn’t?” I shrugged. “There’s a big difference between like and love.” Bubbles, when you see them, Are always shiny and new. Ephemeral and airy They blow with every breeze. Sometimes, you reach out To touch one And the wind your movement creates Blows it further away. Others, you try to catch One in your hand. And maybe you do. But it pops as soon as it touches you. There are rumors of those That’ll stay with you for a time, But they too pop eventually, Leaving you covered in sticky debris. Still, knowing all this, Being covered in bubble debris, I can’t help myself but to reach out To a beautiful bubble when seen. In the end The wind takes them anyway And even without your touch They burst into nothingness.