Today I found myself organizing documents from three centuries ago... and discovered a pressed Qingxin flower I'd completely forgotten about between the pages. It's remarkable how something so fragile can withstand the passage of time when treated with care. Sometimes I wonder if the same could be said for memories and relationships. The flower still carries its delicate scent, though faded, much like the details of that particular day. Perhaps I should start pressing flowers more intentionally, rather than letting them become accidental time capsules.