iridescent ;; poems

petal fall

cherry blossoms have petals, and the petals fall down.

they fall into leaves and grass and dirt and rivers and backpacks and shoulders and souls. when a petal first flew into my face, i brushed it off, thinking it was an annoying thing that got in my way. but the petals kept on falling, settling in my hair and hands and heart, so i kept coming back to see them, and i grew to know the tree that beckoned to me with its spirit, and i grew to love the tree.

not all petals fall into good places. some are carried away by the wind, never to see its comrades again. some fall into dark ravines, shadowed by darkness until it decomposes. some fall into trash bins, buried beneath piles and piles of grime and stink, and are suffocated by the weight of this world's waste.

but many petals are cherished. those who fall into grassy meadows, those who fall into clear springs, those who fall into loving palms. those petals are the most lucky.

i grew to love the petals, but i loved them too much. i cherished every single petal i received, large or small, crumpled or ripped, all shapes and sizes. but those weren't enough. i wanted more and more and more petals, even though the tree could not provide them to me.

so i shook the tree. i shook the tree hoping for some more petals, but i shook the tree too hard, and the premature petals fell off like dropping stones and the tree grew naked and bare. and when i pulled out the roots and carved out its core to try and keep the tree for myself, it withered and died, a husk of its former self. i cried because the tree that used to be so beautiful was gone, but i did not have the right to mourn it because i was the one who killed it.

petals never fell on me ever again, and i knew i deserved it. the love i had for that tree had turned into obsession, the petals my addiction. i had destroyed the only thing i ever needed with my own two hands.