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Sakura Denver.
She was spring, and I say "was" strongly knowing that I shall never see her again. Her presence was refreshing like a breeze in April, her heart golden like the mid-spring sun. Everything she ever did sparkled so brightly. So much so to the point I was forced to turn away, despite wanting to watch every move she made. Our love began under the full bloom sakura. Some have called it ironic due to her name. Others called it fate, but in all honesty, I don't know what I would call it. Soon enough though, none of that would ever matter anyhow, as both she and our love melted away with the snowflakes.