Blogging · stories · Thoughts

Paper boats…



She folded the piece of paper neatly.

It had been ages since she had last worked her origami skills, but she hadn’t forgotten how to make these little paper boats. Some things she just didn’t forget.

Like riding a bicycle…

Her fingers didn’t rush, there was no need to. It seemed like everything in her life was on highspeed. Work, trying to keep up with friends, taking care of her ill mother and doing her little share of volunteering… She was always running from place to place. 

Not today.

Sitting in the tall grass by the lake, she paused for a couple of minutes. The weather was particularly beautiful for the beginning of fall. The breeze was warm on her cheek, and the birds’ songs lulled her quite pleasantly. She was really happy with her little escapade.

She finished the boat, and delicately lay it on the grass by her side. Her hand dove in her large purse once more, and pulled another piece of paper. 

Her finger ballet started again…

Relentlessly, she kept folding, over and over, and as the fragile boats started to pile up, she suddenly got emotional. Not enough to cry, but she could feel a strange knot in her throat. When the last one was finished, she turned it over and over again, wondering if it could even float.

Only then did she notice that the birds had gone silent. It seemed fit. Even the wind didn’t dare to shake the tall trees’ leaves. Nature was on hold, waiting to see what she would do next.

She stood up, and shook off the numbness in her legs, embracing the magic beauty of the scenery. 

The timing was perfect.

She kneeled down, and, one by one, she picked up the little boats and delicately put them on the still water, giving each of them a gentle little push.

When all the little vessels were finaly afloat, she broke into tears.

She’d thought that the hardest part of her little project would have been to write her letter to him. Their story had been both fusional and toxic, and although it had finished in hellish fireworks, it still had been the best she had ever lived.

Letting go was not about forgetting. It was just letting the memory of what they had once been free. 

Free to die with the setting sun, or to rise again like a phoenix.

She turned her back to the lake before any of the fragile boats sunk, hoping that Life would speed her tender thoughts to him.

Wiping her teary eyes with the back of her sleeve, she heard the birds again.

The birds would keep chirping, but would she ever hear his voice again?

Only time would tell…


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