Midnight.
I sit in bed, folding paper airplanes.
the streetlight casting soft shadows as they race around my room.
Tumbling, turning, tossing themselves in the air.
Like shooting stars.
And I count the seconds before they land.
Close my eyes
One, two, three.
Wish
Before they crash.
And when morning comes the
Paper planes scatter the floor, a war zone
Their wings twisted from falling fast.
Crumpled from a quick descent and mourning footsteps.
Eight o’clock
I pick up the trash.