Paper Boats

No one told us to leave after letting go of the paper boats.

At first the sharp folds caressed the tip of the water,

toying with the surface and gliding gracefully,

like they promised.

But we stayed until the sun gave way to dark

and water ate our wonder,

turning creamy paper to disfigured mesh.

Our boat was stronger the next time,

built out of hope

and the type of paper that doesn’t sink, money.

We promised each other escape,

rowing until the miles travelled

meant we could take our freedom.

No one told us we couldn’t row forever.

Our arms got tired and the paper ran out.

It’s just paper, you promise.

Our boats are lopsided,

folds loosened by age and regret.

No one told us to be careful.

We spent our whole lives chasing,

becoming fragile and drowning,

everything they should’ve stopped.

But we will always sail paper boats,

like I promised.