Pressed Flowers in a Book

You tucked them there without a word

Pressed petals between pages blurred

I found them when the spine gave way

And held their silence through the day

No scent remains, but still they show

The way we were a year ago

Pressed flowers in a book we shared

Color faded, still they cared

Each petal curled in quiet grace

A memory time couldn’t erase

You never told me what they meant

But left them where your time was spent

I closed the book, then opened slow

To keep the pause you let me know

They rest in stillness, barely seen

Yet bloom between what might have been

Pressed flowers in a book we shared

Color faded, still they cared

Each petal curled in quiet grace

A memory time couldn’t erase

I thought to move them, place them near

But some things wilt if held too clear

Pressed flowers in a book, untouched

Say more than we ever rushed

They speak in silence, soft and flat

Of something real — and just like that