there is no way out of here. i would like to know where all the little nooks and crannys from the olden days ever went to because there are none here, in this place; in this day.
She weeps for all that she has wanted to be, for the words that run around inside her all day long but simply cannot fly, for the aeroplane that her paper wants to become.
The birthday girl weeps for her paper aeroplane. And at that very moment, she lifts up her pen. The birthday girl writes.
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