82.27 Not the brightest, not the freshest, but real

You saw me. Not the brightest in the bunch. Not the freshest. But real.

My petals carry the touch of time - edges curled, colors softened, some joy faded into memory. I am what comes after the celebration. And still, I am here.

Not everyone stops for me.
But you did.

“I am the part of you learning to love what lingers.
I am the beauty that does not demand attention.
I am proof that presence is enough.”

Even surrounded by louder blooms, I do not envy them. I have already sung my song. And now, I listen. I nourish. I keep the stories of what has passed and what is yet to rise.

There is grace in this quietness.
There is dignity in this letting go.

And there is still time -
to be seen, to be held,
to be loved exactly as you are now.