When Yashar once again stood in the heavy snow, stretched out her hand to catch a snowflake that almost fell on the tip of her nose, and watched it melt into her hand like tears, what she thought of was not the porous ice floes in the ditch, nor the cashmere scarves entwined by lovers, nor the folded hands in the coat pockets, but Chagall.
Chagall taught her that life is precious, but he never told her that love is more valuable.
Intention: Life is precious, love is even more valuable. For the sake of freedom, both can be thrown away.