I've begun my voyage in a paper boat without a bottom; I will fly to the moon in it. I have been folded along a crease in time, a weakness in the sheet of life. Now, you've settled on the opposite side of the paper to me; I can see your traces in the ink that soaks through the fibre, the pulped vegetation. When we become waterlogged, and the cage disintegrates, we will intermingle. When this paper aeroplane leaves the cliff edge, and carves parallel vapour trails in the dark, we will come together.
And it will hurt. Like fire, and pain, an eternity of anguish. The kind of things children daren't have nightmares of. Your very essence will be eaten, bite by massive bite until all that's left is dust, writing in agony. Then nothing but an inky black, entirely void of what makes us human. No emotion, no sensation.