I once wrote a poem about a thousand paper cranes

How I would make them tirelessly

Fold and fold and fold again

But every crane would fall apart before I could reach that milestone

That faraway number of one thousand

My cranes were my lifeforce; my way to see the world

They let me walk the hallways 

A corpse among the living

They let me go along my merry way

Fold and fold and folding again

The cranes allowed me to talk, not look down

They let me smile, let me laugh

The cranes taught me that there is more to know

That I wasn’t the only one making cranes

Folding and folding and folding again

The cranes are like a ghost–you never know when they come and when they go

Just that one day, you start folding, and one day you stop

One day you hit that number

That faraway one thousand

And the cranes are paper once more