Today I let go of my paper airplane. I crafted the plane for a long time, over a year. I gently folded every wing and smoothed every corner until I realized there was no more work to be done, the time had come to fly. I didn't get to sit and spend more time with my work of art, it needed to serve its purpose other than being cared for by me. I didn't learn how to make this model from just my mother or father, my siblings or teachers, but rather from hearing the successes and failures of all of the paper airplanes constructed around me. I used their experiences to better my own. Mine would be perfect, mine would be the exception. Yet somehow, I made a flaw. Even though I was so careful, paid close attention, was purposeful in my learning endeavors, I made a mistake. I thought I had crafted my plane to come back to me once I released it. I thought I built it to always consider me as the home to return to. Yet I knew when I let it go today, that was not the intention of my aircraft. The wind in its tail was too cold and too fast to ever come back to be cradled in my hands or perfected in my eyes.
But planes are meant to fly. And lovers are made to lose.