Pastel clusters, little ovations from the flower made up of a million tiny kisses. A pristine, smooth-waved kind of sweetness. A cheek pecked by the adoring devotion of powdery floral. Just a brush, a little note of amour, but not too much. Beautiful, uncomplicated, better in so many ways than that stack of unopened mail you've got building there at the edge of your desk. Spoiler alert: Lilac will not ever force you to read any of that.