I bend paper and impatience into right angles. Every Herculean exhibition of discipline is accompanied by the snap of a bursting blood vessel.
I close my eyes against my own irrational hope; I press it flat, like a little paper wing.
I brush scarred fingertips over insane desires; I seal them silently, in the folds of tiny tail.
I exhale the breath of a thousand cuts. Pink mist stains my hand-made creations a particular cherry-blossom shade of longing.
I entomb my adoration a single crane at a time. Each dozen-pleated bird leads me closer to Wise Mind with a gesture from it's elegant, pointed beak.
My devotion brushes me back. I am shackled by a self-sworn oath to an apotheosis.
I begin folding another crane.
11:25 p.m. - 2015-03-09
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