We used to fold
yesterday’s news
into paper planes
and believed the past
would launch into new horizons
if we pressed all the lines
into perfection
All our hopes for tomorrow
would be our reality
until we realized after all
they were once
a vat of pulp
and when the rain came
those planes would wilt
into a mess
our laughter would soon
turn into sour tears
Maybe
that’s why
I didn’t want to
grow up
Flicker of Thoughts 