Origami Stories

Hello friends! This is a stand alone short story that is poorly edited and written in the span of a couple hours mostly via voice to text. I'm sure there are plenty of grammatical errors... I'm sorry. And... it is a pile of mush...I'm not sorry. It is rated mature, but IMO does not need to be- the rating is just to err on the side of caution.

I hope you enjoy! <3

______

Origami Stories

-A Short Story-

He had been your friend since he had given you your first hand written note in elementary school.

Your eyes had been wide when he placed it on your palm, folded like origami. You still remember being reluctant to pull apart the edges, as if you would be unraveling a masterpiece. Yet, the scribble of characters poking out the edges had been too tempting for your eleven year old mind to withstand.

Your eyes went even wider when you saw what he had written inside.

Pure and utter nonsense.

There, scribbled in the confines of that sheet, he had written you the beginnings of a story. He wrote of characters and places that did not exist. It was playful, whimsical, and innocent. Your young brain had never comprehended anything like these stories, like him.

His written words made you laugh.

And he liked seeing you smile.

From that day, you would spend years unfolding his origami shapes, reading the stories he wrote inside of them, while your mind and heart unfolded itself as well.

By the time you were thirteen years old, he was already your best friend.

His phone number became the first, next to your parents', that you could recall by heart. His mother's cooking was just as familiar on your tongue as your own mother's. His sister was the first older sibling you ever annoyed, while you and him giggled outside her bedroom door while she was doing 'less childish things', as she had said.

At sixteen years old, you both did less childish things.

Your cheeks were often painted the same color as the sakuras when he handed you his latest creations, his stories now folded in even more immaculate origami shapes.

Inside of his arms, you had read his new tales. Unlike the ones of old, his stories began to tell of people and places that did exist. They were no longer about far off and fictional worlds. They described a world and relationship you both shared- a story of you and him. And although your young brain could still barely understand the gravity of these stories, your heart knew how to beat to it.

You opened those origami stories very carefully. As carefully as you could with clumsy fingers, still trembling from the kisses he had given you.

At eighteen, he wrote a story of his love on your skin instead of on paper. He used his hands as he traced his thoughts down the curve of your spine. His lips penned the plot. His hips brought you the climax. His sighs taught you the meaning.

You were both still young, but you thought you were beginning to understand what it was that made this world tick.

Later that year, you realized you knew nothing.

The story that had been so clearly defined on your origami notes, on your skin, in your heart, at times seemed like a figment of your imagination.

He had moved across the world.