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... sounding like a procession of ghosts, the fallen leaves whirling in the sky, unwilling to leave and yet hesitant to land, as though they held many unfulfilled wishes.
In the funeral home at midnight, the flickering lights, viewed from outside, intertwined patterns of light and shadow like a splendid cage set by fate; turning to look behind oneself, there was the pitch-black night and the hazy sky, always feeling like something might suddenly jump out and say to you, "Hey!"
The f ...
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