Under the Canopy of Pink Blossoms
Inhaling the sweet perfume carried by a gentle breeze, I close my eyes. Cherry blossoms, whispers of pink against the canvas of spring. Each blossom promises warmth and renewal. My fingers brush against a fallen petal, a question blossoms in my mind.
Will these blooms return, like cherished memories, when spring awakens once more?
A gentle hand finds mine. The voice, full of affection, makes me wonder if it’s a trick of the wind or a reflection of my own yearning.
“We will witness their return, together, year after year” grounding me in the present. Is he reading my unspoken thoughts? But his words hold the promise of love and a silent reassurance.
Can we bottle this feeling, preserve it like a pressed rose between the pages of a diary? Every word painted us pink, as though we were the canvas upon which the blush of the blossoms unfolded.
Every bit of this moment is so captivating. For me, he is the root who would trade the leaves to be by my side. Unlike the grand narratives of love tales, it’s not a story written in grand gestures but in a quiet symphony of shared laughter, stolen glances, comforting each other and growing together.
Perhaps, someday, when years paint our hair with greys and whites, these memories will become the vibrant threads of our lives, we will revisit these penned memories under the canopy of pink.
Thank you!!
