WHAT YOU'VE BEEN DOING
Ceremony, rationed to two days
The surface keeps its ceremony for weddings and funerals and lets the other twenty-five thousand days go by unmarked, unraised, un-toasted. You have a pure version of yourself, the undiluted one, and you have been saving it for an audience that keeps not booking: the right occasion, the right witnesses, the sanctioned date. The blossom finds this wasteful. It stopped waiting for an occasion. It became one.
The good stuff isn't for later. Later is a room that stays empty.