it's for you that the stars in the night sky become insomniacs and fight sleep's overprotective suffocation. you stand beneath them talking to the universe at the same time as a sleepless budgie two floors down; softly.
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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