V The night beckons and aches to be released . As he listens and sways drunkenly to the ebbing rhythm of the stars , a mournful dance on a city rooftop , he takes a paper plane from his pocket . Its yellowed wings flit , anticipating the tepid breeze , as if announcing its will to soar . So , he let it . He let the paper plane , carrying all his saccharine memories , sail into the naked skylights , which smile regretfully back at him . And he watches , as it fades into the backdrop of the eventide , and once he was sure it was gone , lost within the echoes of this beautiful , barren darkness , he , too , leaps , free and unchained , plummeting , flying , tasting the cloying air in his lungs anew . And in this moment , he finally understands his joyful , invigorating , rapturous obsession . Because tonight , he is his very own paper plane .