plucked

You see a beautiful flower, its petals barely opened, yet you can immediately ascertain that it is a thing of rare beauty.

Daring not to disturb it for fear of marring its fragility, you step back and decide to admire it from a respectable distance. It's final colors hold the power of potential.

Then another person comes and plucks the blossom.

And you watch, bewildered, as the person walks away with the bloom that was never yours to begin with and you feel a certain awkwardness of not-quite-loss.

It is, after all, just a flower and there are presumably innumerable others, just as precious in their beauty and rarity, in other places.

So, do you regret the loss of something that did not belong to you?

That's how it is.