A short story about a lost balloon

gistfile1.txt

I had a balloon.
But I don't any more.
One day,
    I got up,
        and the balloon was gone.
I looked in the closet,
         in the drawer,
         in the other pocket,
But the balloon was just gone.
It was pretty sad.
    After all, it was my balloon.
I sat in a chair and stared out the window,
Dreaming it might pop by and say,
    "hello, did you miss me?"
A day passed.
    And another.
        And another.
            And another.
                And the balloon didn't come back.
I took a balloon whistle and a balloon net,
    and got out on a search.
I walked up and down the street.
    Maybe it got tangled on a wire.
        Maybe it fell down a trash can.
But it was nowhere to be found.
People asked me, what are you looking for?
    My balloon.
        Oh, your balloon.
    It was right there,
        around the corner,  
            near that building.
So I excitedly went and looked,
    and there was a balloon.
    But it wasn't mine.
        It was a different balloon.
            Entirely different.
I went to the city.
    Maybe it wanted to
        go shopping,
        or see a movie?
    It was very loud.
        I couldn't hear myself searching.
    Between the people and the tall buildings,
        how could I find my balloon?
People said "here,
    I have your balloon".
    So I looked.
        And I smelled.
            And I listened.
                But it wasn't my balloon.
                I can understand their mistake:
            it sounded similar,
        or it smelled similar,
    or it looked similar,
    but there's no mistaking it.
        Theirs wasn't my balloon.
Balloon, where are you?
I went to the mountains,
    climbing hills and
        crossing rivers.
I yelled. Balloon!
    Balloon!
Where are you?
    Answer me!
But the balloon couldn't answer, because
balloons can't talk.

I got back home
    sad and angry.
How could it do such a thing!?
    Just like that,
        get up and leave!
Wasn't I good to it?
    Wasn't I kind?
        Wasn't I nice?
            Wasn't I fair?
Is being with me below it?
I was the one who brought it,
    who raised it,
        who nurtured it,
            who cared for it!
I'll just find myself another balloon,
    I'll find ten balloons!
        And each will be
            10 times the balloon it was,
                so I'll have it a 100 times over!
            But.
        It won't be
    My balloon.
And I sank back to my chair,
    sinking down my sorrow.
What's that, there?
Can it be?
    It looks like...
        it smells like...
            it sounds like...
But...it's not?
The balloon wasn't my balloon.
Because it was entirely its own,
    an independent balloon,
        its balloon.
And it was never mine.

So I don't have a balloon.
And that's a bit sad.
But ok after all.