I picked up the bread, the milk, the non-fat yogurt, made it all the way to the cleaning product aisle at the far end of the store but as soon as I started to walk through it, felt as though I was in a garden of sorts; one with a lovely, artificial floral scent that wafted to me by way of a delicate sigh from the humming air conditioner. This put me in such a state of tranquillity that I became lost in a reverie, and began to imagine that I too was a cherry blossom among them (in their pre-detergented form of course), and still tethered to the small universe of a branch. I watched blissfully as neighbouring trees shook distant pink shadows from their hair and soon enough, found that I too had come undone and felt myself drifting past washing lines, skyscrapers and the small dimly lit museums of open windows in the city, into which I snuck quick blurred glimpses as I floated past. To my delight, each was filled with an old lover listlessly smoking a cigarette, or watching The Dog Whisperer, all while thinking the most wonderful reminiscient thoughts about me. I didn’t care at all, because I, of course, was obviously having a better time, and looked positively radiant, having just confirmed this after seeing myself reflected in a particularly well-lit puddle. But then the ends of the sky were beginning to look like spilt orange juice and I felt the profound sadness of watching a sunset alone. This was when I thought of you. Soon enough, my cherry blossom self coasted the wind’s exhale, and circled the pavement a final time before floating to the ground. Next thing I knew, I was halfway home. As I crossed Quilp Street, I thought of all the ways I could be charming to make up for the lack of detergent. I envied the way cherry blossoms were never held accountable. I wrote this poem for you in my Notes app. I hope you like it.