A wilted rose rested on tattered pages. The book, ancient, whispered of past tales. A Rose, once blooming, stark contrast to the yellowed sheets. It emanated saudade, exuding longings better left untouched. The book, rich with cryptic knowledge, tales of old, wore time’s wear proudly. Carrying a silent weight of yesteryears’ wisdom. Together, they were a reflection of faded beauty and treasured lessons. Each petal, every page, carrying the essence of time. Time – timeless, relentless, without pause. They stood, the book and the rose. Indomitable against time. Alone, resilient, and united by more than surface acquaintance. They spoke of saudade. They were saudade.