time blooms like a flower

Just now I finished another two pages in my journal, the one decorated with the neon rose I carefully set in September.

There’s only four pages left.

Just a week ago, and every breakfast after, I’ve noticed that the cherry blossoms are blooming. It was just a tiny bud at first, but now the pink flowers are popping up all over the bare branches.

Just a couple months ago, I was daydreaming, getting lost in the shouts, cheers, music, and penlights.

Just a couple hours ago, I sighed and imagined just how silly I had been to believe I could attend a concert on the other side of the world set fifteen days from now.

Just a couple weeks ago, I boasted prideful words with an arrogant smile.

Just two days ago, I buried my head underneath a blanket while crying because I just utterly humiliated myself in the interview I had been so calm about.

Flipping through my old, battered journal, filled with hastily scrawled letters and carelessly pasted papers, I laugh bitterly.

Was it the surprise that stemmed from the feeling that those events felt lifetimes away,

or was it the surprise that those events seemingly took place just yesterday?

As in the words of a story I wrote, “Everything always works out in an uncanny way”.