Not the stuff of Myths.

I kept my wedding bouquet. It hangs against the wall in my study next to my desk. I really loved my wedding day and for days afterwards I would stand and smell my bouquet reliving the moments its perfume conjured. As the weeks have gone by, I glance up every now and then at the browning and fading colour, the fragrance no longer wafts through the room but if intently desired, I inhale the soft remenants of the memory of its once intoxicating fragrance. As I sit here looking up at its existance slowly fading into sepia, this process of stagnation and slow decay has suddenly tweaked a resolved thought. This bouquet was carefully put together, with the colours complimenting each other and framing the individual flowers that make up the whole, the stalks were pulled firmly together so they didn’t unravel; this bouquet was beautiful. On the wedding day the colours bloomed bright and the scent was full and

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