that it happened

I am in love with these flower photographs.

And already,
the flowers themselves are gone.

Maybe that is the quiet heartbreak inside them.

So fleeting.
So impossibly brief.

Perhaps that is part of the beauty too.

You cannot always wait for another season,
another mood,
another someday.

Sometimes beauty asks to be witnessed
while it is still blooming.

Or perhaps it is something deeper still.

The sorrow of knowing
that every living thing arrives carrying its own ending.

And yet…

perhaps the beauty was simply
that it happened at all.