I blew up hundreds of colored balloons and let them out into the ocean. They were pink, and orange, and yellow, and by the time I was done, the sea was covered with these floating orbs of color. Familiar faces approached me, although I don’t remember who they were. I showed them what I had done.
When they saw the sea of balloons, they looked at me sympathetically. Not the kind where they want to hold you, but the kind where they think you’re crazy. The kind where they’re telepathically communicating with each other that they’ll have to put you somewhere. Some place where you can get help. The kind of sympathetic look where they think they've lost you forever.
They didn't say it, but I knew. I knew they thought I was crazy. And it hurt.
I wasn't crazy. How could I be crazy when I had just created something so beautiful?
The soft waves pushed the balloons up and down so they danced like a wonderfully rhythmic ballet of color.
There was a clear blue sky, and I liked the way it felt.