There is beauty even in a wilted tree.
Or in this case, lifeless, dried flowers.
Call me sentimental, but I take memento of things of importance for me.
Like these exquisite flowers, that once had lively, vibrant colors, and nostalgic sweet fragrance.
Their perfection will always be engraved in my memory.
The thing with perfection is, it seldom lasts.
I'm not saying it doesn't exist. No, I don't believe that at all. I would like to think that perfection exists, but is something rarely found. So make sure to hold on to it the best you can when you do come across it.
Keeping these dried flowers in this heart is the closest attempt to preserving perfection.
Their colors may now be subdued, earthy, reminiscent of the never-ending wonders of nature.
Their scent had evolved, too, having a certain tinge of maturity, perhaps a reminder of the memories that goes with it.
Their once strong structure has turned frail.
Whenever I open my (tin-can) heart, and take the flowers out, I never fail to remember that I hold in my hands dainty, delicate petals that can easily be crushed.
So I am mindful of the frequency that I allow myself to enjoy them.
Yes, there is beauty in them that we can hope to enjoy forever.
If the flowers get too delicate though, remember- they aren't all we got, for the world is full of amazing gardens that we can equally enjoy.
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