Bubbles

"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.
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