like a grass of some type, you're witnessing the growth of a perfect greenish yellow flower on a pedestal.
it was blooming.
and when it got older it's gotten stronger, it's gotten tougher, battered by the sun, shot by heavy rain, bashed by dusts, scrawny around the edges, but surviving, and you thought its jolt from the ground is imminent..
and you regret.
and you hope and you hope and you wish and you pray and you expect and you hope and then hope some more that it will not be, without your involvement.
and you regret..
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