Like Ships in the Night

I built a paper boat today. A sky blue catamaran. I used two and a half pieces of paper and sellotape. I drew a skull and crossbones on the sail.
You're building one too. It's a competition. When night falls, we're going to take them to our secret spot and float them down the river.
I think mine will win.
I spent an hour on it.
(I wanted you to be impressed)

We'll drop them on the dark, rushing river and they'll probably collapse before they even reach the bridge, and we'll laugh, and they'll be gone. An afternoon of craftsmanship down the drain, sodden shipwrecks washing up somewhere in the morning, puzzling ducks. Will I be sad, for my little boat? I might be. I think I will be. The sellotape is sloppy, but the paper is such a nice shade of blue! I was happy making it. I'll be happy watching our boats race together, on a dark secret bank of a rushing, hushing river. I will have no regrets, though I'll be sad for our paper vessels, sloppy and fragile, transient and beautiful.

I will watch them float away with sad eyes, set like glistening opals in a golden, happy face.
We will hold hands and watch them go together.
And say goodbye when they're gone.