This is probably the coolest boquet I've ever seen. The large African flower in the center seems like it's from some sort of alien planet.
There's no way to predict what memory will make of us, of our choices, of our selves. All we have is now. All we have is each other. And it can be so impossibly painful to hold one's heart open--because the heart does what it does, and one can't control it, not even kind of. But nevertheless. I hope mine never closes.
