Our Little Cherry Blossoms

twenty one. sorry

ＪＵＮＥ (( ＬＡＲＫ ))

I make an effort not to dwell on those days too much, otherwise I'd revert to how I was back then.

Ahead of me, my 18th birthday dancing upon the horizon, hand in hand with our long awaited high school graduation. Both seemed to frolic around one another, refusing to release their bond as if they were bound together for life until the day they vanished, the day I would move on. My thoughts soared eidetically through the past, leering across that grade 9 orientation before ricocheting back to the present, and with it came a tidal wave of memories. The gate. In front of me. The book. In my english class. The kayak. In storage. The sun. Eclipsed. The truth?

...On the horizon.

"Lark?"

The cherry blossom tree was in serendipitous bloom for the second time since he took me here, and in its assuasive shade sat a little quaint oak bench, and on the oak bench was little quaint me. And coming towards us both, was the boy.

If I think about it too much, I'll always find my head far above the clouds, so I'm content with waiting.

The wind shifted piously, shuddering the branches as flushed pilgrims wafted towards the pavement in preparation for the trampling to come. I swept some away with my shoes.

"Lark."

The boy's feet came to a halt in front of me, petals spiralling around his legs as I raised my head to meet his eyes. His expression was empty and tired. The sewing needle that was poking at my chest suddenly punctured its way through, followed by the barbed wire which tore at my heart. Taking a shuddering breath, I swallowed back the tears that were threatening to surface and stood up from the bench to speak.

"We don't have much time left, do we?"

I wanted to avert my eyes from his unwavering gaze, but his weightless stare already had me petrified. What else should I say?

"I'm sorry, I-"

A sudden agonising warmth enveloped my body as his arms wrapped around my torso, squeezing me tighter and tighter as the moments wore on. I could feel his tears against the skin of my neck as he buried his face deeper into my hair. And all the while, the wounds in my chest grew bigger until I was sure I had bled out every last drop of guilt I had left. Suppressing a painful sob, I pressed my face into his shoulder and returned the gesture, gripping the fabric of his hoodie as if my life depended on it. With a soft breath, his mouth moved closer to my ear.

"We just have to make the most of it then."

Lifting his head up, the boy took my cheeks in his weathered palms and kissed my forehead before closing his eyes and swathing his arms around me once more. It was the last time we stood together in utter silence, both of us enfolding the other with our own anguished embrace.

...but there are times when I wish I hadn't done what I did. I would sit and wish the promise never existed; the slow passage of time is too unbearable for me. Too many memories flit by each time I open the drawer of pale pink petals. Too many emotions etched inside my head.