Flash fiction: Paper Crane

"The first one comes today."

The beautiful thing of paper trembled on my palm.

"Unfold it." 

 "How can I? I will kill it."

His hand lay warm on my back. I knew the brokenness of his smile. 

"Carefully. I can refold it." 

I found an edge and folded it out. Another. Another. I spread the crane's wings, fearful of tearing, pretending not to see the words, not till I could see them all, the pen strokes marred by folds.

Spend your years with me
Twenty thousand morning cranes
Await your answer

Something inside me unfolded, fearful of tearing.

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