Absence requires us to search for a part of ourselves, to rediscover something which is missing, something detached or lost within us, once connected to something outside. Absence is that state of something not being in the space to which it belongs. It is a tie that has been unfastened or cut away. Absence lurks and we’re not always aware of how susceptible we are: as precarious as a string knotted loosely to the neck of a balloon. Absence is the wretched creation of the head which can’t decide whether to console or torture the heart. It is a thing which replaces. Absence can plummet following a moment of carelessness, neglect or spite, as we watch the thing that we love leave our grasp. A balloon becoming smaller and smaller and smaller against the sky.