Uta no Sakura

Sorta of a piece of writing between expressive writing and journal entry I jotted down exactly on the morning of Tuesday, June 2nd, 2015.

I run outside, hoping the key I found was the right one. The one to open the garage my bike is locked up in. I did! Then I rush to the mailbox, but no mail. Before I go inside, I rush to the cherry blossom tree. I look up. I'm lucky I have something that exists in Japan to exist in America. I can imagine it; Those cherry blossoms flowing in the invisible waves. Dancing in a swirl of the winds' voices. Pale pink, beautiful, elegant and graceful. I'm riding my bike to Austin. as I cross Des Moines or Kansas City, dozens of sakura petals sweep past me. Thankfully none hit my face. The daydream, so sweet and yearning, ends. I decide to pluck seven sakura blossoms from the tree and sing "Sakura Uta".

Why do lovely flowers bloom from the cherry tree? 
Children of seven waking smile at the sun.
Why do fragrant blossoms stir in the mountain hill?
Children of seven laughing run through the wood.
Why do crimson branches dance in village streets?
Children of seven singing call down the wind.
Why do wilting flowers fall from the cherry tree?
Children of seven dying to wake once more.

I've plucked two. I delicately pluck one petal as I begin to sing my song. A song that swims exactly like "Sakura Uta"

Seven sakura blossoms I pluck from the tree,
For good fortune I pray shall come to me soon.
Seven sakura blossoms I pluck for myself,
I want to have a life far greater than this.
I don't know when it will come, but I know this.
These seven sakura blossoms will wilt soon.
When my blossoms wilt in time, they'll be long gone.
The miracle will have to wait forever.

I look down. Now I have seven. Good. I rush back inside. I run downstairs and put my sakura flowers in one of my homemade tea cups after putting in clean water. One of these cups I call Tsubaki. I delicately put them in the cup so they stand still. I plucked these flowers from their important source of life, they'll wilt soon. Unlike wheat . . . No, like wheat, it eventually grows back after getting stomped on, crushed, burned or whatever. Flowers do come back, but their time is limited. Ours' isn't. We're almost like trees, unless you know someone who's had his or her trunk chopped down and sent going "Timber!" Others who've had their branches cut down but still kept standing with such amazing energy. I must be one of them. When I start to wither, I keep standing. I don't give in to defeat, no. I've said this twice today; It's twenty-eight days till I'm yet another year older. I want to leave. Can I leave? If so, anytime then? My life revolves around my mom's career and my brother's autism, mostly Mom's world. Just because a story revolves around one or two characters does not mean the world revolves around them. We have stories, exist in many universes. There are many in this world, the yin and yang. This world is cruel but beautiful. Crazy but amazing. I hate it yet I love it. No one should have to live this way, not like others do. Not like me. You're not gonna get out of it by suicide. Many people have committed the terrible crime, not just Biff and Robin. These flowers I plucked away will only stand for three days or less. They are the only things I could find to provide me with what little light I could use. They'll wilt but I won't. Until then, I'm gonna have to make a choice. I don't have enough money or proper source of transportation or proper education, just a high school diploma. I'd like to leave this life revolving around my mom's so-called career. I'm an adult, I thought I should've been free by now. I need to be so I can shine just as strongly as Elijah, as Simon, as Asuna, Sinon and Maka. All those people I know in reality and fiction that've kept their heads up. These flowers Will wilt: So in time, I must choose.

Sakura Uta belongs to Mamiko Noto
Soul Eater (Atsushi Okubo)(2004-2014)