They say there is key. Does it make you happy? When the cherry blossoms bloom, they tear at their own tender petals, letting them blow off into the cold winter wind. The years pass by fast. Some wish for it to spin backwards, to go back. Will those petals ever again touch stem and root? The stories people can tell. Drift through endless beauties, through landscapes and hurricanes, they will forever soar. For somewhere amongst them, there is always one that will land. Like seeds the petal will sprout. It will sprout its own colors, like the lonely blossom tree in the desert, growing at its own pace, pushing through the wind.
I myself am a petal. Though I may not qualify to be cherry. Those sprightly beauties do not compare with me. I am old withered and wise, a leaf from a sheltering oak tree, or a scrap from the willow. I drift, but may never soar. And when I land, there will be no key for me. For I am old and withered, with no one to share my wisdom. I am all alone in this world, dancing on the dirt tracks, watching as others soar by, hopeless. As the time passes I will never see the fire, nor the stars. They will not reveal themselves to me, or if they do I will not look. They say there are as many stars in the sky as one can imagine. They say the fire always burns out. They say…
How many petals are there? As many as one can imagine. How many stars are there? One. A star that has left me behind. It has traveled far from its homeland, to go venture through miles of magenta sunshine, kilometers of frozen forests, to find what? To be free of hardships, suffering, hunger and fatigue. I cannot follow, for I am too small and weak. My place is here, dancing on the dirt tracks. Round and round the circle, as we all join hands and circle to the left… Isn't that how I first caught sight of you? As you kept me warm through the cold winter nights, your bright flames flickering. One day you will die. And what will I do after? I must keep on dancing. Round and round the dirt tracks, trying to link arms with a star, trying not to lose sight of the fire, knowing that one day I will lose my strife, and float up to the sky. Hoping to soar, not merely drift.
They say that once you see your first, you see nothing else. But what about me? What am I to do? Should I carry on drifting with nowhere to go? Hoping to find my blossom tree? No. the truth is, I have already found my blossom tree. It is right in front of me. It is not my tree who has flung me into the endless chasing of stars, nor the everlasting flames of pain. It is I. The lonely petal floats, drifting slowly across the desolate wastelands, past empty souls. It will never manage to soar. Forever it will stick to the ground, hoping. Hoping for that one wish to come true. Hoping to once again dance around the dirt track, round and round the blazing fire, chasing that one star through miles of magenta sunshine, kilometers of frozen forests. I know that one day, they will finally link arms.