Sunday, 9 March 2014

Paper plane

Paper airplanes can be funny. The thought amused him much and he had his own silent chuckle.

Putting the silent laughter aside for a moment, he continued to write. Something very calming about how ink interacts with paper and their dance that ensues. Driving that serenity, he continued to write. Random instances, ghosts from the past & present, the encapsulation of life as he knew it. Meaningless with or without context. And he wrote it all.

He did the delicate folding - keeping in my mind the right proportions - on his way up the high rise. His paper plane was complete by the time he reached the top. The wind there seemingly conspiring with his adventurous ideas as we;;.

The plane flew out of his hands. And the wind and laws of physics did the rest. Within moments the plane was gone - lost in the randomness of flows. Who knew which part of the city it would land? Who knew if there will be anyone to read what he wrote? Who knew if someone would ever recognize what the parchment held to be his?

And he had another silent chuckle about this as he walked down the stairs.

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