love is blind
even through the lens
of a camera she uses
to collect the world
pink cherry blossoms
decorating her love
life
and mine though more
remotely
a few more pictures
to frame in a gallery
that already shines
the tenderness of
each bloom
reshaping our existence
even if she is unaware
of its impact on me or
others
who cling to each falling pedal
as it tears
spring brings her to a different place
reshaping her into a
different person
maybe a person I might not recognize
if I met her again on the street
this need to be
something new
somewhere else
to live in some new shell
none of us have seen before
and so we might love her again
even through all the
tirades and tribulations
we never ceased
love is never convenient or logical, it merely is,
and regardless of
what face she wears,
love is constant,
even if also painful
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