There is a pretty blossom tree outside my window. Sometimes I just stare at it and think about what would happen if it could talk to me. The stories it could tell. How it witnessed so many love stories. And so many heartbreaks. The stories it could tell. How her flower are admired. So beautiful, so fragile. The stories it could tell. How when I was a kid I would pluck their blooms and wear it in my hair. How my blood stained their petals and turned rose to red. The stories it could tell.
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