– This woman with short hair... Why?... A disease?
– Yes... A contagious disease: fashion.
Come with me without worry:
I will follow you on the way,
But I can't touch your hand.
Friend, I am loneliness.
I'm on my way... without looking back. Sometimes, on the rough path, a soft and pure light... fragrant breezes... In the hollow of the bushes, a rose. We breathe... We dream... We pass.
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