The world, in which we live in, has been revolving around certain rules more than it revolves around the sun. The first and the most obvious is, anyone who has existed here must confront death. Death, is not an end but the genesis for a new-fangled existence to something.
Every being has to grow old, and once the time comes, has to leave their transient abode to an eternal silhouette. The flower withers after weeks of spreading its essence everywhere. After wilting, they could either remain in your diary soaking your melancholic ink and pictures, breathing against your tears. Or, they could decipher themselves into mother earth for being an inextricable part of such a colossal force. Or, they could let themselves be squeezed to linger around the edges of our memories.
Likewise, a person as and more special as the flower, won't leave once death embraces them. They would be the sillage to the memories, you cherish until you transcend to be one among them. They would be etched between our stars, in the sky without clouds. The stars, we could never forget to have a look at, even after an overwhelming day. The stars, for assuring us to keep going. They would breathe everytime our heart beats along their resonant memories. They would smile when our lips would stretch and curve upwards while voicing their name. They would become a part our very own extant, an abstract of our soul.
They never leave, they stay with you among their words and emotions you adored.