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Cherry Trees This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

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My eyes ache with the pollen
that dusts and brushes off your skin
in long, slow notes
whenever I touch it
with the very tips of my fingers.

The year has sped up again
on its interminable wheel, but
in this time of spring,
I feel no awakening.

Rather –
I wish to sleep.

I like you,
but I know
you like me
more.

And my heart aches with
the silent knowledge that
it will be me
who says goodbye.

I don’t want to be remembered
as the girl who broke your heart
while the cherries blossomed.



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