At exactly this season, this month, this day, I have felt the love that I thought was too early to come. Yet I would want to last.
However, because it was too early, I know it would not last. And so I just opened my heart to the feeling - the infatuation, the emotion, the Love. The Love that I knew, on the onset, would not last. But I allowed to enter. Listening to Mitch Albom's mentor, Morrie, "Allow Love to enter you." And so I did.
I took the risk. I gambled. In the middle of opportunities, while swimming in the river of labor whose current was capable of swallowing you to its depth, I forcefully paddled my body towards the riverside. To the riverside where I could hold the hand of the one I chose to Love. To the riverside which had led me to the horrendous forest where I entered once and had found my Love.
To the forest where, for sometime, I have left the Cherry Blossom Tree.
The verisimilitude of the Love to grow appeared plausible - like rays of the sun peeking onto the vapor gaps of cumulonimbus providing an ambiance of romance to lovers at sunset. Words, affection, respect, understanding, above all, Love, nourished me and the Cherry Blossom Tree. My Cherry Blossom Tree.
But it was a love that was too early to come. And was bound to last, as swiftly as it has come.
At exactly this season, this month, this day, I have felt the love that I thought was too early to come. Which I have long gone accepted not to last.
However, because it was too early, I know it would not last. And so I just opened my heart to the feeling - the infatuation, the emotion, the Love. The Love that I knew, on the onset, would not last. But I allowed to enter. Listening to Mitch Albom's mentor, Morrie, "Allow Love to enter you." And so I did.
I took the risk. I gambled. In the middle of opportunities, while swimming in the river of labor whose current was capable of swallowing you to its depth, I forcefully paddled my body towards the riverside. To the riverside where I could hold the hand of the one I chose to Love. To the riverside which had led me to the horrendous forest where I entered once and had found my Love.
To the forest where, for sometime, I have left the Cherry Blossom Tree.
The verisimilitude of the Love to grow appeared plausible - like rays of the sun peeking onto the vapor gaps of cumulonimbus providing an ambiance of romance to lovers at sunset. Words, affection, respect, understanding, above all, Love, nourished me and the Cherry Blossom Tree. My Cherry Blossom Tree.
But it was a love that was too early to come. And was bound to last, as swiftly as it has come.
At exactly this season, this month, this day, I have felt the love that I thought was too early to come. Which I have long gone accepted not to last.
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