Like Cherry Blossoms Falling
A man in a wheelchair stood in front of a quiet grave. He stayed there for a long time, staring at the stone as if waiting for it to speak. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was low and tired.
“Oliver… I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I made you end like this. If I had been stronger, if I had chosen better, maybe you’d still be here.”
He came again the next day.
This time, he sounded calmer, almost hopeful. “Lorette is married now,” he said softly. “So you don’t have to worry anymore. My parents won’t force anything. Everything they planned is gone. You can come back now. It’s safe.”
On the days that followed, he kept coming.
Some days he talked about the past—about school, about small laughs, about moments that meant nothing then but everything now. Other days, he complained about the world, about how loud it was, how empty it felt. Sometimes he laughed at his own words and said, “You’d tease me if you were here.” Sometimes he cried and said nothing at all.
People said he was not normal anymore.
Still, he returned.
Then one day, he came like always, but his voice was different. He looked tired.
“I don’t think I can stay in this world without you,” he whispered. “I tried. I really did. But everything feels wrong.” He paused, then smiled faintly. “If you can hear me… I’m coming to meet you.”
That was the last day he came.
On his way home, there was an accident.
And that was the end.
