The world dims—
light falters, seas fall silent,
love cools to ash,
and memory frays into dust.
Yet in the hiatus,
a sudden blush of petals—
sakura, trembling in the air,
a brief rebellion of beauty
against the certainty of decay.
For a heartbeat,
the streets are rivers of pink snow,
strangers pause,
eyes lifted,
as if eternity had cracked open.
But the blossoms scatter,
sweep into gutters,
trampled under shoes.
The trains still run,
the markets open,
emails pile up,
and the world resumes
its business-as-usual.
The bloom was only a pause,
a reminder that even endings
carry their own fragile grace—
and then the clock ticks on.
.