It brings out the romantic in me, the nostalgic romantic; to see the young girls blowing bubbles in the park. To know that they will grow up and enter the romanticised world of the bubble. The bubble of a first love, entered with all the innocent joy of youth, or re-entered with the passionate experience of maturity.
Of course the young girls were competitive, each one wanted to blow the bigger bubble, each one wanted their mother to be the proudest. The bubble was what tied the child to the mother, what neither could hold firmly, yet what neither could ever give back.
This is a poem from Vagaries:
Love of The Key to Room 149