Outside the window is a magnolia tree that does not distinguish between the four seasons, and all the light and shadow that fall through the wind is on our floor.
The sun is very bright, but you can look directly at it.
It feels like Bergman gave me.
Solemn and stoic, but can be close.
I often read to myself when my heart is cold, the light of winter.
Maybe it will be the only equipment I have to spend this winter alone.
That's the woman with him, I guess.
She looks directly into the camera, like looking directly at you or herself.
She said, we just lack love.
I wondered if she also had a slight sorrow for a certain relationship at that time.
someone.
The priest, who played the piano and led the hymn, peeked at his pocket watch.
Another grand ceremony of faith is over.
What is strange is that no matter how the final protagonist rebels against faith, salvation and religion,
they are still in the fog of fierce religious sentiment.
He rubbed his fingers hard, frightened by his doubts.
The wind is blowing,
and the flapping of leaves and wind makes a rich sound.
I suddenly thought, in cold weather, tears should lose heat.
Waiting for a beam of light, until people have the illusion of a different place in the body.
I have already begun to miss this winter that has not yet arrived.
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