Okay so this is the only story with any correlation to the actual title. The rest may or may not have the same correlation. I guess it depends on what suggestions are thrown at me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Big Time Rush. It belongs to Nickelodeon.

Story One: Paper Memories

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Kendall's POV

…

I folded the already mostly finished paper airplane to perfection and set it on my desk, overflowing with my paper creations. I had an obsession with them, probably derived from my childhood. But whatever, it helps keep me calm. Airplanes of all colors were strung and flying overhead, Minnesota's own Air and Space Museum. More crowded my desk, rendering the hunk of wood useless to its purpose (not that I minded). I smiled and grabbed my guitar from where it rested against my bed. I absentmindedly picked out a melody, going over lyrics in my head. The airplanes on strings swirled around in a complicated dance. I snatched some lyrics, more the beginning of an attempt than a song. Hearing your name and seeing your face/it takes me back to a place/where it was just you and me/and you said we'd have eternity.

I stopped because I felt wetness on my face. That was odd considering I never cried. I'd spent years creating a wall that He broke with just one look, and, more recently, rebuilding it when he left the pieces scattered. The night he left I didn't cry, and I still hadn't cried…until now. Not wanting to believe it, I touched my hand to my cheek, and sure enough, it came back wet.

I was a sap.

I was one of my airplanes suspended on a string, waiting for a breeze to blow me about.

Sighing, I set my guitar down and reached for the nearest piece of paper. I brought up the love note James gave me, the last one that ever got sent. I quickly formed it into a plane, this one slightly different than the others. It reminded me of a fighter jet. I didn't want to leave it on my desk, but I really had no room to hang it. Oh well. I'd make room.

Standing up, I treaded some string though the middle of it then retrieved my desk chair. Balancing carefully, I hung it over my bed, a little lower than the rest so I could stare at it. I shoved my chair aside and flopped onto my bed. The planes above me twirled lazily, having not a care in the world. More lyrics filtered through my brain, catching me off guard since I had no melody to go with them. I am a plane suspended high/a broken boy who's finally cried/tears of loss and loneliness/always missing you, missing you. Now there was a song. But I had no heart to get my guitar to find a melody to match.

I don't know how many paper memories of James there were above me or on my desk. Probably too many to count. In the relative dimness of my room, I could make out some wrapping paper delicately folded, the same wrapping paper that was on the journal James gave me for Christmas. A letter from the college James and I planned to go to together. A wrapper from the first meal we had on our first date. And finally, the letter telling me goodbye.

Cue more wetness.

But it was okay. I needed to cry about James sometime, right? It might ask well be now, surrounded by his memories, forever captured in such a simple way it made it complex.

"Oh James," I said to planes. The best part about talking to them was they couldn't talk back. "Why'd you have to say goodbye?"

One thousand ways to cry/one thousand ways to say goodbye/one thousand ways to make you stay/one thousand ways to feel the pain/if we only talked once I'd be glad/because I could hold on to the last moment we had.

That one deserved to be a full song, so I grabbed my journal and got to work.