Cherry Blossom Path to Heaven

It’s not that I don’t know.

I do know, I just don’t want to see.

The fog is grey and the trees’ leaves are orange and brown. The leaves on the ground are so wet my steps have barely no sound. It’s muffed, like the voice in my head repeating the tragedies ahead, but I’m selectively deaf when it comes to it. I look to my left. There lies a passage of cherry blossoms; a long corridor of scented petals and visually analysing it, it looked like a heaven’s path. No clue where that path led though, because it narrowed down to a point of no return; and new discoveries equal utter discomfort. The smallest glimpse of excitement is interpreted as danger, and of course I look away, and continue walking down the wet path of orange-brown leaves.

            I once had a dream about this place, and I was desperately looking for the same person I’m looking for today. I’m positive to say I have absolutely no idea who this person is, although I have my guesses. I noticed I was stepping more forcefully than necessary and breathing very heavily, as if the fog’s density was too intense for my nostrils to separate water from oxygen. I started panting. Yet again, the feeling I knew what was causing me all this dramatic euphoria was more real than three steps before. Getting more real as I panted forward. I still don’t want to see it. I needed to find my safe haven and I still did not want to see what was right in front of me. Yet I acknowledged it very well indeed. A mirror would not show truthfulness such as this.

            Alone in a cold orange-brown forest.

            Underdressed.

            It is easy to feel unsafe here. I know I know how to take care of myself but I also know I am the most neglectful human being I have ever met. I rationalized the word “unsafe”, and I was panting again. This time other discomforts were accompanying the dense fog. “Stop thinking” I thought. Then I thought this was a thought about not thinking, and then it is what we call: overthinking. I had to find support on the next tree. I forced myself to use my tact to recognize the surface I was touching. Still thinking about not thinking. “What an irrational thought” I thought.

            Meant to be.

            This three worded sentence felt like a punch in the stomach. I see it in hindsight a figure was hovering there, and then lying there, peacefully, and my stomach whirled in disgraceful anarchy. How terrible it is to romanticize feelings in a world where reality is so developed and built up as a weapon against the dreamers. And I am a dreamer. And to make things worse, I am a romantic one. Oh, Lord, so am I here standing amidst these orange-brown leaved trees, pacing away from the narrowed cherry blossom path to heaven, wandering around wondering about the same keywords I mean to ignore with all my might so I can turn reality around.

            Orange and brown leaves are a sight for sore eyes. And there’s much scope for the imagination when you search for words around it. First, we can think of fall trees. The word “fall” is so intense, yet so simple, and definitely a cure for sore hearts. I begin to forget once again that I am in the middle of anywhere, and my creative human brain compels through clouds of new inspirational memories I’m sure I was just creating at the time. Fall. It’s ever so sad to think of the leaves being detached from the twig. Am I an orange leaf scared of being detached from a twig? Then who is my twig? What am I attached to? Overthinking again, too distracted to even imagine I was overthinking over the leaves on the ground. Especially the ones I was stepping on. How cruel of me. Is it what I am to become? Is it where am I to be? Who’ll step on me, then? Maybe I’m the orange leaf and also the feet stepping on it.

God – I sigh.

It. Doesn’t. Work.

            I cannot control anyone’s temper. Not even mine. Am I to live up to expectations I don’t even have for myself? How dreadfully sorry I am for being so weak. I see my strength though, perhaps I’m too used to feeling down in hopes the knight on the white horse will romantically save me from myself. I was there being romantic again, avoiding reality and the chaos in my chest. Romanticizing over saviors. 

BAM.

            I hit a tree and my hands fly to my forehead where there was a sudden red knot. Reality hurts. And I still avoided it. Up till this sentence I visualize what I need to, feeling the most horrible sensations devastating my guts, and yet I look away. I look away from the cherry blossom path because I’m too scared to get through such beautifulness. Might I once again forcefully remain on the ugliness so I won’t ever have to lose beautifulness again. Worth it? Probably for the weak, probably for me then. I am desperate now. I am to do something brave for once! Should I burn down all those trees? Cut them off? Pile them and then set them on fire? Just the remote thought of being this brave set a fire to myself. And I began to think how crazy I actually was. I’m out of control – I thought, feeling over controlling. 

Deep breath.

Step, step, step.