Paper Airplanes

Paper Airplanes

There once was an old rooftop,
littered with moss and parched leaves,
where we would sit and fold paper airplanes.
We launched them every day at 4 p.m.,
just as the sun began to dip.
I knew you were hoping they would
reach heights we were not yet ready for.
I saw them drift past the cathedral,
heard the bells toll for 4:30 mass,
and thought that if we were higher than
the church itself,
we must somehow be closer to God.
Two happy hearts, living in
scuffed-soled shoes above our one-mile radius world.

And then God called you,
higher than the cathedral,
higher than our rooftop,
and now there is no place for us.
I cried that I would follow you anywhere,
because overnight, I knew we
were ready –
to reach new heights –
we had the whole world before our feet. (literally)

Yet here I am now,
twirling leaves and picking at the moss.
One lonely heart,
one scuffed soul.
I watch my paper airplanes cast
shadows against the dipping sun,
hoping they will reach new heights,
hoping they will make their way to you,
and hoping heaven will send one down for me, too.

– Samantha Prasad

Comments

  1. Samantha, this is such a beautiful poem.

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