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before sunrise,
she waits under the tree,
the tree doesn't bear
leaves nor fruits
and yet,
it was her favorite.

before sunrise,
he walks under the tree,
the tree doesn't bear
leaves nor fruits
and yet,
it was his favorite.

suddenly,
she talks,
then he listens,
both laughed
and joked
about things;
all of a sudden,
they are already
friends.

before sunrise,
they both wait under the tree,
every second of the day,
waiting, talking, laughing,
under the tree;
it became their favorite.

days turned into
weeks;
weeks turned into
months.
the clouds turning dark,
thunders cone to surface;
rain fell.

before the sunrise,
rain falls,
no one waits,
no one talks,
no one laughs,
under the tree that
never bore
leaves nor fruits.

just clouds crying,
pouring out.
yet no sight
of them.

then, the rain
halted.

before the sunrise,
he runs towards
the tree,
the tree bore leaves;
bright pink filled his eyes,
drops of the water
pouring on him.

he smiles at the sight,
and then slowly fades.

the lady never appeared,
just like the rain,
she's gone.

—cherry blossoms.

echoes | poetry | wattys2018Where stories live. Discover now