
I grew up surrounded by cherry blossoms, without thinking much about them.
Every spring, they arrived as expected — pale petals filling the air, parks crowded with people celebrating beneath the trees. It felt ordinary, almost unavoidable.
It wasn’t until I lived far from Japan that they stayed with me.
From a distance, I began to miss their brief presence — how quickly they bloom, how easily they disappear. What once felt familiar became something delicate.
I painted Sakura while holding that feeling. A quiet appreciation for something I didn’t fully see until it was no longer close.
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