The river in the dark was frozen under the silvery snow. King Kong held his love and slid and played on the ice, splashing snowflakes like silver dust to isolate all dangers except happiness. Snow fell, "Boom", a bomb bloomed a flower on the glacier.
A huge boom. But there is no high-pitched voice of King Kong hitting his chest.
He was dying, grabbing on the top of the Empire State Building, his naked back was still constantly being shot from the plane, and the woman in front of him was his love and the one who brought him disaster. King Kong watched her with gentle eyes. For a long time, it is also persevering. He knew that this was not the battle with two tyrannosaurus on Skull Island, nor the restraint of losing freedom. He could no longer protect his beloved woman, only wishing to insist on seeing her for one more second before death...falling.
Fall down.
Fall from the highest point of the world's symbolic architecture. Falling from his beloved. Falling from the cycle of life. Falling from love.
A dark cloud is getting smaller and smaller. The light is brilliant.
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