When I shut my eyes everything I see is made from folded paper. The blades of grass, the insects, the trees that clutch. The only colour comes from your lips, a paper boy sitting under a paper tree, just out of reach. As I move through moments music begins to play, the familiar melody orchestrating around me. It’s too loud. As beautiful as it is I have to hold my ears. The rhythm does not compliment the poetic’ness of your paper form daydreaming in the distance. As the music grows louder and more unbearable the words from all the folded paper begin to slide from their creases and fall into a furiously flowing river that has now come between us. When my eyes reach back for you, you’ve moved, now river-side, gently lowering yourself into a paper boat, like the one I made for you, before I knew you, when I was small. All the words I’ve ever written for you are swept up by the current and I’m left with only empty shapes. I glance longingly after you as you make your way away from me. You catch my eyes for a brief moment and toss your crimson paper lips into the wind. Another moment later they are in my hands. I glance down at them fondly before pinning them to my paper cheek and forging onward, the opposite way.

———-> I wake, briefly, for now I remember:
I saw something unusual in the clouds today.
It reminded me of you, your uniqueness,
And it made me question everything,
Everything I live for, everything I’m worth.
Perhaps we’ll never find each other but that’s not for me to decide,
And at the moment I still breathe for you.
You can do whatever you will with that.