Some beautiful things last long past what seems reasonable or possible to hope for. The endurance of such beauty can fool you into believing it will last forever.
When it ends, the way that it goes communicates a truth about its nature. Does it fester from the root and turn black? Is it uprooted suddenly and flung away by a violence of jealous passion? Does it crumble to dust?
Sometimes beauty leaves us slowly, easing away, blossom by blossom; leaving behind the scent of something wild and sweet and pure.
It’s the part you can’t see which proves most likely to endure.