A bouquet is a temporary decision.
A moment gathered, then let go.

It isn’t designed to perform or endure. It exists to be held, noticed quietly, and allowed to change. With time, it softens. It bends. It leaves traces.

We’re drawn to things that don’t hide their age. Things that carry marks of touch and time. A bouquet does the same—nothing concealed, nothing forced.

There is no promise of permanence here. Only presence.

And sometimes, presence is all that matters.