On a Friday afternoon, I planted two cherry blossom trees. One flowering white, one pink. I grafted them together, wanting them to grow intertwined. I imagined years of springtimes to come with their different blossoms mixing, covering the ground, as a monument to me and a loved one.
We grew apart, and the trees were not cared for properly. Over time I watched them wither. One day, finding one of the trees toppled over on the ground, I decided to finally let go. I came back to the site a week later to finally uproot the trees for preservation, but they were gone. I stood with each foot in the two holes where they once lived.