Cherry Crush

As he turned the corner, a cool wind buffeted the branches. A spray of petals drifted towards the footpath, pale pink snowflakes settling on the wet asphalt. He stopped, drawing a shallow breath. It was too late. The last of the blossoms had already fallen.

Stripped of its decorations the tree stood tall, a faithful sentinel watching as he approached. Carefully sidestepping the thoughts racing through his mind, he avoided the pink smudges on the ground. The wind accompanied him, sending a chill through his lightweight jacket, constricting the weave around his heart.

The bench was empty. Drops of rain collecting like sparkling diamonds on the seat, the sun picking out each of them in turn.

They had parted ways here. The tree spying on their goodbyes through its thick green foliage. The bench capturing the lingering heat of their bodies after their departure. Since then, no contact.

Leaving had been brought up by her, agreed by both. Sustained by a tacit pledge to return before the last blossoms fell. A safety net of sorts, softening the goodbye, or so he had told himself. The deadline had been etched in the back of his mind, resurfacing each time he’d been faced with a new decision, confronted with a new path. Testing the safety net.

Had she been waiting? Her nature suggested she would but the best of intentions could be mislaid. 

Fragile memories coursed through his veins, tugging him in all directions except forward. He pulled the collar of his jacket tight, the wind nudging him closer. 

Staring at the crushed petals disintegrating into the shiny pavement, he exhaled. Tension evaporating into the spring air. The safety net quietly unravelled, stitch by stitch. Even if she had come, he had always known he would be late.

Inspired by the writing prompt: It was too late. The last of the blossoms had already fallen.