Now there's hardly any talking between the two of us. Maybe there'd be a few words exchanged, but they're mostly things like "hi" and "how are you". The main form of communication between the two of us was the paper planes. All the beautiful words written on the snowy sheets were my will and life. I treasured nothing more than those letters. Out of all the things in this world, I loved only that girl. Her being is the only thing chaining me to this world. There didn't have to be any real, very important meaning to my life. Just being there for her, just knowing that I helped someone be happy—that was enough meaning for me.

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Months full of inconceivable happiness passed. Each day when I ran down to the fence, she would be there, both of us with a paper plane in hand. After talking for a bit, we'd go our separate ways, smiles lighting up both of our faces.

One day in early fall, the girl comes over to the fence. She threw over the plane in her hand. I can sense her tenseness, and my fingers shiver in the cold air and my mind shaking at the prospect of what this letter might contain. I try to smile at her in an attempt to reassure myself, but her smile seems so forced, I had to look back down.