A bouquet gathered from pages left unread, from glances held too long, from feelings never quite spoken.
These flowers bloom not just in the vase, but in the space between words — where longing lingers and softness endures.
A book rests beneath a single fallen rose, as if the story once inside has spilled out and taken root.
This painting is a tribute to the quiet ache of beauty, and to the language we speak when we cannot find the words.