I bought flowers on the 15th

Valentine’s day passed, and the next day I bought myself a bouquet of red roses.

They are beatiful. Fresh, full, exactly the same one’s I saw before the 14th – just twice cheaper.

It made me think about how much of Valentine’s Day is not really about love, but about pricing. The cakes, the flowers, the heart shaped everything – all lovely, all suddenly expensive, and all suddenly dumped straight after the Day X.

I felt a bit annoyed by it, honestly. Not because I bought flowers later, but because it’s so obvious how easily emotions are turned into marketing.

Still, buying flowers for myself turned out to be unexpetedly helpful.

The bouquet is in my living room, and every time I pass by it, I notice it. It’s gorgeous. Simple, but beautiful. And there is something quitely comforting about knowing I bought it for myself.

It feels good to have a small piece of beauty at home. Something you don’t rush past. Something you can admire for no reason at all.

There is something comforting in thinking that these flowers didn’t end up wasted. Insted, they’re finally doing what they’re meant to do – bringing a bit of beauty into everyday life, just sitting there and making someone smile.

May be that’s the part that actually matters.