all walk in the snow and it is inevitable to leave footprints behind us, footprints that will last only until the next snowfall.
In this silent landscape whitened and I have no idea what the true value of what is happening, perhaps it makes sense to find a way where there is not.
I can only see the ice while playing with the sun and clings to the branches as lovers embraced in a station before the last kiss.
I hear the trees rustling, it seems to say: goodbye.
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