Nimble fingers upon sharp corners,
she'd fold herself into whatever she desired.
A paper plane for the freedom craved.
A paper boat, always staying afloat.
Behind every crease and every fold,
hid memories and stories untold.
Unfolding and refolding,
the smaller and more delicate she seems to be.
Creases become wrinkles,
sharp corners, dog-eared.
I haven't seen her since then,
but I heard she remained a paper crane.
The symbol of hope and peace,
I hope she finally found serenity.