I was fifteen. eight hours
in the waiting room remembering
the ride, lights flashing, you
crying through your oxygen
mask, saying I'm okay,
I'm okay. I still hear you
when I close my eyes,
see the man across the room,
folding paper cranes out of
magazine pages &
pamphlets about every
kind of pain. after six hours
he taught me the right way
to fold a wing
& it was, I think, the one thing
that saved me: each
smooth and steady crease
I can't stop reliving these moments.
outstanding, heart-touching piece
Little distractions sure do amount to so very much, eh?
Such a beautiful sincere heartbreaking moment. You have given us a gift in sharing this
sometimes, when you can't stop yourself from reliving something or obsessing over something, writing it out is the only way it stops. i wonder if it's because then, it knows it's been recognised. thoughts and people are alike- neither wants to be ignored.
yeah, I sometimes think it's like that. because someone out there somewhere, someday, might read it and be like - I totally understand. and that helps quiet the restlessness and the obsessing.
Beautifully written. I love the detail about the paper cranes and the gentleman patiently folding them... Not only soothing but the deeper meaning behind them, a wish for peace and if enough are folded the possibility of recovery from illness and pain.
yes, like the thousand paper cranes from Hiroshima. I was thinking about that the whole time I was folding. Thank you for reading
absolutely beautiful, very well written.