These trees are on a plot of land near the neighborhood where I grew up. We moved away (to the next town over) when I was ten.
A house used to stand on this plot, and an old couple lived there for years. We’d drive by, and they would always be sitting on their porch, but one day, only she sat; an empty seat next to her, where her beloved would once accompany her.
And one day, she was gone, too. And after that, the house. All that stands are the trees, untouched. Every year they bloom, and the wind drags their petals to the place where the house once stood. They fall where love once was.
Where life once was.