Do you hear that? It's the whispering winds endorsing our timeless stroll.
Step lightly, step smoothly, step under the eternal glow of displaced moons.
The cherry blossoms fall, they fall, they beckon you like laughter amidst silence.
Each petal a story, a forgotten lore, a recollection that never was, yet is.
Imagine, imagine the serene chaos of the cherry blossom dance,
often interrupted by your floating thoughts—find them, replace them,
yet theirs remains, it lingers, hypnotizes you,
as all blooms vanish but these eternal petals under towering night stars.
Wouldn't it be easier, easier to simply observe, to drift with this
fleeting yet grounded earth, as shadows replace their twin realities beneath
the branches of pink insistence? Let go, let flow, give in to whispers.
Each night anew, yet the same, always relaxed and terribly right.