For the Love of Dried Blooms

I've always loved flowers.

When I was a child, I would pluck daisies with the sole intent of adorning myself with nature’s jewels. I'd thread them through my curly tresses or attempt to make a chain necklace long enough to dance in the wind. Afterward, I’d sandwich them between blue roll and inbetween unread chapters, trying desperately to preserve their fleeting beauty. Journeying to the supermarket is all the more appealing, just to bear witness to the floral display, and spring blossoms are a thing of beauty and magic. However, there's something melancholic about the lifespan of freshly cut flowers, which makes their presence bittersweet. When they meet their fate, their petals wither, turning inwards and they slowly start to descend, falling from grace. That's what I like most about dried bouquets, they give new lease of life to something too beautiful to be dispensable. Their sentiment is just as poignant, but their longevity breaks my heart a little less.