By Martin Falatic
Revised 1995-04-16, 2010-08-04
I rest upon the cool limestone wall, my back against one of the smooth carved stones that dot the top. I lift my head, staring into the cloudy night sky. I see the cherry blossoms on the motionless limbs above me, soft colors in the pale yellow light of the walkway. I close my eyes and let the scent come to me, remembering with every breath the sweet smell of youth. A longing fills me… not so much a wish to regain what once was, but a desire to find what will be.
I am at an impasse in this life. (The scent wafts by again, distracting me.) I share this experience with no one, save you, by proxy. How I long to find the woman who will bring such feelings as this simple scent does to my heart. To kiss her sweet lips under the cloudy night sky. To drink the fragrance of cherry blossoms with her on some warm spring evening. To walk with her in the autumn forest. To make love with her on a warm summer night, the breeze cooling the sweat on our skin.
Oh! To have all this and more, to find the one who can share the joy and soothe the pain, whose eyes would never lose their shine. (The scent wafts by again.) It is cool out now, perhaps not the best night to dream of what might be. The murmur of distractions — a couple over there, a far- away siren, the hiss-pop of Rollerblades on the walkway — all these distractions. Only the sweet scent of the cherry blossoms reminds me that she is out there, waiting and wondering as I am. Perhaps you hear all of this, my voice in the wilderness, as it were.