I can't find my paper crane collection—I think it got lost in the move.
I’d say they’re hiding but I know better. They’re lost. Shoved in a keepsake box to reassure them they’re worthy of keeping, but we both know they’re gathering dust. Quietly decomposing somewhere between last year’s burnt-out Christmas lights and a couple chipped ceramic mugs I was too sentimental about to throw away. Abandoned, kind of. Most likely. One day. But not forgotten.
Probably just as well. I’ll call them practice.
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