This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at Oxford Emory chapter.
Walking down the winding road,
as sakura flowers flutter, dance,
dazzle,
and fall,
I look up to the sky and wonder…
is it that time already?
The bell chimes religiously.
Its melodies amidst the morning air.
It sounds so sentimental,
so nostalgic,
as if to remind me of something somewhere.
School is colorless;
the seat to my right is still empty.
I tune out the quiet whispers of the class,
the words a hum in my mind.
Beyond the windows
the petals continue to cascade,
collide,
and collect. They seem so easy to reach.
But even when I think
that I can carry their beauty
in the palm of my hands,
they are fleeting like Spring’s breath.
As easily as they come,
they leave.
Do you ever get the feeling
that something is missing.