ORIGINS: The word was friendship. And it wasn’t really a choice. The ships are made of paper because paper is frail, we like old-fashioned childhoods better, and friendship is something that was made up for children, just like fairytales.
I held on to my paper ship longer than I should have. I should have launched our friendship, while it still felt like a dream. Before I realized that the river was nothing more than a gutter filled with dirty rain. Before our friendship rotted, and the worms ate that dream, ruining my memories.
The stars are small, they are weak, it’s no wonder that they are no match for city lights. You told me that friendships don’t last, because children grow up and cities are built. And I agree. But I don’t want our friendship to end without a proper goodbye. If the stars are shrimps, I say we fry them, and enjoy our last meal together.
Children should be allowed to dream, they should be allowed to make friends, even if they are only something or someone to waste their time with. You didn’t tell me what a dream was, you didn’t tell me what a friend was. You just told me that my dreams wouldn’t come true, that my friends wouldn’t be there when I needed them. You filled my imagination with shipwrecks, and I never felt brave enough to launch my paper ships.
Someone told me to grow up, to forget my dreams and my paper ships. That friendships were just a means to an end. That I had to be selfish, like every other fish. That my imagination would never fill my stomach, no matter how many papers I filled with words. He told me that I had teeth, that I should eat. Fried fish, like everyone else. That I would be happier, if I looked at the sea and didn’t see a dream. And he was right. It’s easier to live like everyone else.