It took me three movies to realize that Makoto Shinkai has told the same story three times. I'm a bit slow. That's not to say each movie has nothing of its own to offer — quite the contrary. What I mean is: the first film was shy about revealing its intent, and the next two were progressively more bold. Five centimeters per second is, they say, the rate at which cherry-blossom petals fall to the ground. Shinkai uses this metaphor to tell us that a human life — and perhaps more specifically, his — is like those petals.

The sakura is prevalent in Japanese culture, and no less in their literature, where it represents the unstoppable march of time. In particular, the sakura is a fitting metaphor for youth, starting with the image of the flower in all its brilliance, and ending with its petals slowly falling to their deaths. But it can also describe romance — the petals beginning as a united whole and scattering to the winds.

You could say the story of 5cm/s is a bit of both — a chronicle of the young self and young love. The film is presented in three acts, the first being the story of Takaki Tono and Akari Shinohara. We gloss over the details of how they become friends, and learn that Akari is moving with her family to a faraway place. They separate as the falling sakura usher in a new spring, but before time has its way with them, they fight to hold on to what they have.

And so it happens, that while Takaki's family is preparing to move to a new place, placing an even greater distance between himself and Akari, he takes to the rails to see her. The snow is falling, and delay after delay puts his train far behind schedule. That fate lowers her heavy hand to stop an innocent meeting is a prevalent theme in Shinkai's movies, and his characters all nearly lose heart in fighting that unseen force. It's no different for Takaki, who is a slave to nature and the train. He wishes for Akari to release herself from the burden of waiting for him, but at the same time he wants to see her. One could argue that the first act has a happy ending, though the train episode foreshadows the future of their relationship.

The second act finds Takaki in his new residence, and follows Kanae Sumida, a girl who likes him. The operative metaphor here (and the title of the act) is the cosmonaut. While we see pieces of a rocket crawling launch pad, we see Takaki unable to appreciate what's right in front of him, because he left his place of comfort, somewhere out on the horizon. Conversely, Kanae is too absorbed in her small-town life and her feelings for him to consider that the world might have more to offer than that which is right in front of her. Sounds like she should be the one blasting off, and he the one returning to Earth.

Up to this point, the movie seems like it's all about regrets. If only Takaki and Akari weren't so young at their last meeting, maybe they could've made it. Maybe if each had said what they wanted to say when they had the chance, the distance wouldn't have mattered. Maybe if Takaki hadn't been so fixated on the past, he could've noticed that there was more than one suitable choice of a partner. Maybe if he hadn't missed so many opportunities, he would be happier.

The final act finds Takaki as an adult. The cosmonaut has left the world of his youth, never to return, but he still longs for it. Day to day life as a programmer in Tokyo is unsatisfying, as is his current relationship. On the other hand, Akari seems to be doing quite well, and even plans to get married soon. One day on the way to work, Takaki passes by a girl who bears some similarity to Akari, though he doesn't see her face. As both turn to face the other, two trains pass by, and by the time Takaki can see past them, the girl is gone.

No matter how one might try, it's impossible to put the sakura back together after its petals have scattered. This is the core message of the movie — that no matter the pain felt by past disappointments, life goes on. The film's encore, of sorts, is a song called "One More Time, One More Chance," which attempts to sum up all the feelings Takaki felt for Akari (and vice versa). The choice of song is appropriate, but it plays at what feels like a breakneck pace, when compared to the rest of the movie. The transition into music is jarring, and for the first time gave me the impression that Shinkai was going over the top. The segment felt more like a music video than part of a movie.

Be that as it may, I can appreciate what this film is trying to do. Shinkai's second film (The Place Promised in our Early Days) attempted to convey the feeling of loss one feels when growing up, but then closed with a bit of wishful thinking — that what is lost can be made up over time. 5cm/s doesn't sugar coat anything, and instead reminds us that the scattering of stars in the universe, and of the sakura petals in the air — this is the natural order of things. This film is more honest about the pain felt after losing one's youth, and the objects of former affections. Such feelings can be stifling. But the film is also saying: don't dwell on it. Let the past stay where it belongs, and look forward with eyes unclouded. You are still alive.