I hold two origami cranes in my hand,
The first one is not perfection,
His wings are lopsided and his body is uneven,
If origami birds could fly, he would meet the sea before the sun,
The second bird is smoother,
His paper lacks wrinkles and unnecessary folds,
He was made by hands skilled from the first round's practice,
The same way fate was more skilled at creating geniuses when you came into the world,
My creases are not clean but your's are polished,
You fly too close to the sun,
Not in an arrogant display of your strength, but because it's heat has always paled in comparison to your own glow,
The birds are in love,
They never doubted what the passion and shiver was,
Neither did they doubt what will become of it,
The two birds are made of paper,
Paper does not last forever,
Neither will their love,
We hold these two origami cranes in our hands,
We keep them safe with the same absence of care that we carry each other's hearts,
I don't think I dropped yours,
But we knew all along you would tear mine,
I tried to crumple yours as I fell,
I couldn't,
Not because I still loved you,
For if you can shatter me and still hold desire I can burn you and maintain my affection,
I can't hurt you because you are the smoothed one,
Yet you are far from perfection,
You are still made of paper, my dear Raito,
And paper burns in the sun,
You hold in your hand two origami cranes,
The first one is dead,
The other is on his way.
This is what happens when Piper's insomnia is not battled by utter darkness. To stop angry poetry from being written on my iPhone, make my family turn off the damn hotel lamp! I'm cranky, don't mind me.
Points to those of you you got the mythology references.
