Flowers are beautiful. There’s no denying that. A bouquet can brighten a room, a single bloom can warm a heart, and the gesture of giving flowers carries a certain charm that has lasted through centuries. I do appreciate the sentiment behind receiving flowers, especially from my husband on special occasions like Valentine’s Day, my birthday, or Mother’s Day. It’s sweet, thoughtful, and undeniably romantic. But as lovely as they are, I always tell him not to buy me flowers.
The reason is simple: they don’t last. No matter how fresh or vibrant they look when they arrive, their fate is sealed the moment they are cut. Within days, their petals droop, their colors fade, and their beauty withers away. What starts as a symbol of love and joy inevitably turns into something we have to throw away. That, to me, feels like watching money disappear right before my eyes.
It’s not that I don’t value the gesture. Quite the opposite—I deeply appreciate the thought behind it. I understand that flowers are meant to be a token of love, a way of saying, “I care about you” without words. And for many people, that alone justifies the expense. But I can’t help but think practically. If we’re spending money, I’d rather it be on something that lasts. A book I can read over and over, a piece of jewelry that will stay with me for years, or even a simple handwritten note that I can keep forever—those things mean more to me than a fleeting bouquet.
Of course, there’s an undeniable beauty in impermanence. Some argue that flowers are special precisely because they don’t last—that their temporary existence makes them more precious. I understand that perspective, but it’s just not how I feel. Instead of feeling joy when the flowers inevitably start to wilt, I feel a sense of waste. I see them drooping in the vase, and instead of cherishing the short-lived beauty, I think about how they were once full of life before being plucked only to fade away in a matter of days.
Some might say I’m overthinking it. Maybe I am. Maybe I should just enjoy the moment and not worry about practicality. But I can’t help but see it the way I do. When I receive flowers, I smile and appreciate them, but at the back of my mind, I’m already thinking about how soon they’ll be gone. And because of that, I’d rather my husband express his love in a way that won’t disappear so quickly.
I don’t mind if others love flowers. I understand why people buy them, why they bring joy, and why they remain a timeless gift. But for me, they are not practical. Love, appreciation, and thoughtfulness can be expressed in so many ways—ways that don’t wilt and fade. That’s why I tell my husband, year after year, not to buy me flowers. Not because I don’t appreciate the gesture, but because I want something that lasts, just like the love that inspired it.
