A young man stands beneath a cherry tree. Blossoms rain down all around him. He waits expectantly. He glances at his watch, impatient — always impatient — for the next the next glimpse, the next word, the next accidental brush of hands.
The first velvety press of lips.
His heart thunders. His eagerness electrifies the very air around him. He closes his eyes and imagines what will be.
Two old men sit beneath a cherry tree. They lift their faces to feel the falling blossoms kiss them and smile at the wonder of it.
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