In a daze, I remembered that day at the entrance to the cemetery. She was wearing my coat, her ink-dark hair falling along her neck, her eyes keeping everyone at a distance.
I asked her what the flower on her collar was, but she seemed not to hear me. She just stared blankly at the graves.
When no answer came, I felt a little disappointed. Then she suddenly smiled,
"The intoxicating fragrance of jasmine."
As she said those words, there was a sorrowful beauty that seemed to turn and twist endlessly.
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