A withered rose
kept between the pages of an old journal.
Rather than immortalising its death,
you immortalise its liveliness.
Reliving past moments in the present
is a present in itself.
Each petal is intact in its place
as if those memories never faded into oblivion.
The wounds of imperfection
and the thorns of regret
were severed by childlike innocence.
On the precipice of joy and sorrow
lies bittersweet nostalgia.
Cherish.