I don’t know what’s prettier; the cherry blossoms on the trees or the petals when they fall. The streets were covered in puddles of pink today, like tiny colour satured seas of beauty. It didn’t last; the windy rain came and washed all away, untill it all starts again in 12 months. It’s bittersweet to say it, and it feels risky, because I do not know if I’m going to be around next year. Like when my old neighbour went to India for medical treatment and never returned. And when february brought the next season of snowdrops to his front porch I felt sad that he wouldn’t see them, that few months before he didn’t know he wouldn’t live to see them and with the realisation that every spring could be our last.
The way beauty changes and morphs into different things, though. It’s like some of my oldest friendships, who have changed and evolved and grown into different things just like we have changed, evolved and grown into different people, but the love and the reasons why we’re in each other lives remain consistent. I’m grateful for every year with the same well loved faces around me, and I dearly hope they’ll be around for many more.