Cherry blossoms combine every lovely, soft, and delicate thing in the world. I see them and I think about happiness, and their petals in puddles, and that spring I spent in Japan, being very young in a very old country.
Almost everybody I know is obsessed with cherry blossoms and I am obsessed with them in the same way. You expect to feel something when you look at cherry blossoms; you expect the parts of you that died to come back to life. You expect to get swept up in their beauty, and believe in new beginnings, and forget about the good people you hurt and every bad decision you ever made. Loveliness has a way of making things better, even if it’s just an illusion.
The beauty of cherry blossoms only last for a few short weeks but a few short weeks is sometimes all that is needed to start feeling differently. A few short weeks is all that is needed for a disaster to take place or a miracle to occur. In a few short weeks, the life you’re living can become totally unrecognizable and so can the people you thought you knew. Pain comes; happiness leaves. And then happiness returns, pain disappears. A few short weeks is not a very long time at all but it is enough time for things to bloom and things to die.
Cherry blossoms are living proof that spring is real. They are a breath of fresh air, a reminder that barren things are capable of blooming again. And if you’re patient enough and compassionate enough, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t bloom too.