tangerine

They are one, yet with separate identities.
Different cravings, different dreams

The paper believes: 
Once before, I could soar. 
But now with wings, I plummet to the ground.

The crane thinks: 
Fold and creases, all the same. 
For once I become a crane, people would praise.

The paper yearns: 
I watch the earth, suspended from the ceiling.
Memories plaguing, laughter haunting. 

The crane learns: 
A piece of paper, a piece of trash.
At least there would be hesitation to crush a crane. 

The one mind battles back and forth.
Now tell me please, if you can. 
Am I the paper or the crane?