Flowers wilt upon the lacks of water,
upon the un-warmth of sun,
upon the non-existence of fresh air.

Though what the tough ones
can pass through the storms and reckless shadows
awaiting to be beaten up by flashes of circumstances
albeit rather slowly
I will be sitting here watching
as this moment pass by.

For I know the weak one is not actually weak,
but those are the one who crawls into darkness
to grow and flow,
to reap and sow,
only to be beautifully turned into the sunshine
we always praised for.

We then realized that it is actually the beginning blooms for the tough ones.

And by that, time measures everything, witnessed every thing.