Long ago, when I was in a long distance relationship, I would take a train for several hours on a Friday night after work to meet my date. At the station, where I would arrive late at night after dozing for a couple of hours on the train because of my fatigue from work, she would wait to welcome me. Although the station was nearly an hour away from her house by bus, she often came there.
One chilly night, holding her hand, I called a taxi to save our remaining time of the short night. As the taxi passed through the ridge of the mountain toward her house, the cherry blossoms beside the meandering road shined with the background of dark sky and the glow of street lights. The moment when I saw the countless cherry blossoms flash above the windows of the taxi was the best moment I remember about our time.
When the next cherry blossoms season arrived, everything had changed between us. Thus, for both her and me, the memory of that night and of cherry blossoms has remained as the last snippet of cherry blossoms for us.
A lot of my memories around moments of looking at the cherry blossoms have faded out. The time is now turning into a moment that I can’t remember what I said, heard, or saw.
Whenever memories of her emerge in my mind out of the blue, I intentionally think of the cherry blossoms. If the memories turn white anyway, I hope they flutter away, covered with all the cherry blossoms. Looking at the white memories leaving for somewhere, I guess, would make me feel less sorry for her.