When the Sakura touched the earth,

everyone paused.

As if beauty could buy us a moment

long enough to belong.

They called it spring.

I called it another ending wrapped in pink.

We speak of returns

as if the ground remembers

who once stood there.

You looked the same from a distance.

Still. Familiar.

Like a story paused mid-sentence.

But the closer I came...

the less of you there was.

Tell me not to run.

I won’t listen.

Not because I’m fleeing,

but because standing still never kept anyone close.

Tell me not to run

I won't listen

looking at you standing there

I will not stop running

The petals fell like soft knives—

cutting time into segments I can’t reassemble.

You changed, of course.

Everything does.

Except the cycle.

I ran.

I always do.

Stopped, once.

Thought I could stay.

But the silence didn’t soften.

It hollowed.

Tell me not to run.

I won’t listen.

Not because I’m lost,

but because directions require destinations.

When the last piece of you dissolved

into memory I couldn’t hold,

I didn’t mourn.

I waited.

Because Spring always returns.

And I…

I don’t know how not to.

-Ikkel Y.-