A Paper of Possibilites

I used to make paper airplanes.

Just a seamless piece of paper folded together with a kiss.

Throw it in the sky, and the whole world would bow down

A paper full of possibilities

Flying where the heavens touched the earth,

Seeing the clouds blush at the touch of the plane’s wings.

Gliding against the reflection of cotton-candy clouds on the ocean water,

So sweetly I could almost taste it for myself.

Listening to the unsaid stories of passing strangers as the plane would glide past,

I used to make paper airplanes.

Sculpted from the memories of an old diary page,

A previously discarded post-it,

A notebook page covered in absent-minded doodles,

A receipt from the 7-Eleven across the street.

A plane that was used to carry my head but now carries a tsunami of

Should haves, would haves, could haves.

A paper slightly crumpled from the repeated creasing of past mistakes,

A plane flying through a world of occasional forevers and temporary encounters,

A plane that was once weightless in the cloud’s a child’s mind,

But is now engulfed in the clouds at the bottom of mine.

I used to make paper airplanes,

But then I grew up.