ORIGINS: The word was GLOBOS, in other words, balloons. We went with hot-air balloons because the sun is hot too and it is meant to be wolfed down. And it just so happens that if you leave the G out that is what you get. Wolves.
By the way, don’t think that there is no rhyme or reason to the props. All of them are words that start with G.
I had a hot-air balloon once. A dream I put all my breath into. I used to howl at it every night, not knowing that I was alone. I thought that there were other wolves howling along with me. Family. Friends. Lending me their breath. Encouraging me. I was a single-minded child, and it took me a while to realize that not all warmth was the same. That most times people just pat children on the head and give them empty words. I have never forgotten that hot-air balloon. But once I realized that I was the only wolf, it became too much. I don’t know if it was the pressure, the loneliness or the disappointment, I only know that I couldn’t breathe. And even after all these years, I still have difficulty pursuing my dreams. Because I can’t get rid of that shadow that lurks in my lungs. The one that doesn’t let me forget that, unlike the air I breathe, I will never be able to share the most important part of myself with anyone else. Not meaningfully.
What word would you use? Neediness? Devotion? I only know that I was a wolf, and I tried to get closer to the Moon with every breath that I took. I don’t like the word love, it doesn’t feel like it will ever be enough, or even come close to the warmth I am trying to describe. I needed a touch. Just one. I became a hot-air balloon, but the Moon remained out of my reach. I never made it into space. And I heard it loud and clear. That sound. Have you ever bitten a biscuit? Maybe my heart always knew that it would crumble one night. And that, unlike the Moon, my crumbs wouldn’t magically find their way back to each other. Maybe that is why it demanded so much blood. Because it already knew that I would need it one night. Not to shine. Not to heal. Just to hold on. And one day be able to settle for the word love.
I always knew whom I loved. But I had no doubt that the Moon would always be out of my reach, and that knowledge had already started to hurt. So, I decided to settle for a hot-air balloon. But my wolves bared their teeth at me in disgust. They refused to let me have that little bit of warmth. Because only the Night was eternal, and it was thanks to the cold. My wolves refused to be part of a love that would only grow colder with time. They wouldn’t give up howling at the Moon. They would keep my love alive. They would keep it unrequited. Night after night. Because they knew that devotion only lasts until you get what you want. And I cried. On a rainless, moonlit night, I replaced the peas of countless pods with my tears. While my wolves tore that hot-air balloon apart.
Have you ever been loved? Has a wolf ever made you feel like you are the Moon? I was a child. I was full of dreams, full of hot-air balloons. So many, that I couldn’t decide which one to ride out of my childish world, into adulthood. And then one day the wolf came and devoured all of them. It hurt, but not like you are thinking. The wolf made me realize that my enthusiasm didn’t last, that it was always followed by easy goodbyes. The wolf taught me what devotion really was. He gave me a word other than dream. Something that wouldn’t fade away. And I followed it to the little corner of the night the wolf had reserved under the name of Moon for me. I followed. Without knowing where my light would be coming from. All the things wolves did. The blood they were willing to spill. Because they have something they aren’t willing to say goodbye to.