Wish, defined as a verb, to feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that cannot or probably will not happen.

She disagrees. She believes in miracles. Not only because she wants to, but also because she has to. She has never been so desperate before. 

She remembers her friends talking about paper cranes, how people believe it to fulfill wishes if one makes a thousand of them. "You don't actually believe that, do you? C'mon, that's so ridiculous! Why would any one believe in something this stupid?" She used to say this, but not now. She can't afford to.

-

She doesn't know how she start folding her first paper crane, wishing for a miracle. Perhaps it was the accident. It left her with no other choices. She wished hard, from the bottom of her heart for a miracle. She wants to believe. She needs to believe.

-

Helpless. She truly and fully felt it. The frustration of not being able to help, the yearn for him to look at her again. It was filling up her lungs, making it hard to breathe. The world is blurring out. Her mind was blank. A solution was what she needed. Anything that will increase the possibility of him waking up. Or just to calm herself down.

-

On her hundredth paper crane, she still didn't believe. Still found it useless, stupid and ridiculous. But she held on tight to the hope that was hidden deep within. She hopes that he wakes up and tells her this was all a joke. Surprise! Were you tricked? She smiled, imagining his smile, his laugh, his everything. A tear grazed her cheek, moved along her jaw and landed on the paper crane. Her one and only hope to her everything.

-

She carefully folded her second hundredth paper crane. She started to believe, started to sincerely wish. She folds every paper as she listens to the familiar beats on the machine, synchronizing with his heart beat. It's slower than before, she noticed. She wished, quietly, for him to wake up.

-

Third hundredth paper crane, she counted. She watched as he moves further away from her. She watched him disappear, watched as the red light lights up. She looked at it for a long while, held the paper crane to her chest and wished. She wished from the bottom of her heart for him to be safe.

-

When she folded her four-hundredth paper crane, the room was dead silent. The papers were damped. She couldn't hear her heartbeat anymore. She took a look at the empty room for the last time before walking away with the paper crane in her hand. She wished, silently, for him to be happy.

-

"How are you doing so far? Did you find anyone to accompany you? I hope you're doing well. By the way, I bought you your favorite cake. Happy birthday." She placed the five-hundredth paper crane next to the cake and wished to herself, for him to stay peaceful.

-

"Still folding paper cranes, huh?"

She smiled, nodding her head lightly.

"How many did you fold so far?"

"This is the six-hundredth."

"Wow, how long has it been?"

"Didn't count. It doesn't matter anyway."

-

By the seven-hundredth paper crane, she started to let go. Of his smile, of his laugh, of her everything. She decided to keep his memories, every one of it, just for keepsake. She mouthed her wish and moved on.

-

She is now living a peaceful life. Everything about her changed from dark and listless to bright and cheery. She learned to smile sincerely and realizes she could laugh genuinely. She doesn't know why, but every time before she goes to bed, she still folds a paper crane, still wishing. Perhaps it has already carved its way into her, just like a bad habit. A bad habit that she decided not to change. The eight-hundredth and nine-hundredth paper cranes sat in the box with the others, kept in the deepest chamber of her heart.

-

The thousandth paper crane sat next to a handmade cake, just like the other paper cranes. It decorated and colored the dull, damaged grass. They were the colors of memories, longing and hope. She smiled, looking at the thousand paper cranes and wished. She wished to be with him forever.