Chanel

In the pitch-black night, I watch a tiny flame flicker on and off, watch wisps of smoke drift and unfurl like clouds across the empty sky. I remember so many days when flowers bloomed and faded, days when the wind rose, days when snow fell, days when we were together. Then I tell myself firmly not to look back. The past is past, like memories sealed away. As for the present, the days have to go on, one after another, flowing by like the still waters of a frozen river in winter. Though the road ahead is lonely.

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