Life and Strings

Destiny is like a string, stretched and stretched in the cold wind of the North, and finally broke into powder on a snowy night. But those fragments soaked in the fragrance of hawthorn flowers and dyed with bloodstains in the ice cave were blown by the wind and fell on the wasteland, and they actually produced some stubborn warmth in the ashes - like the fluff entwined between the gears of the pocket watch, like the unopened buds of the hawthorn branches in front of the tomb, burning quietly in the time, becoming the light in the embers after the string was broken.