the leafs are dead. the trees, naked, alone and cold. someday, when i die. i would like to be cremated and have my ashes barried next to a cold tree, without leafs during sunset. a tree that looks like this. and this is how i write my testament. the aesthetic of winter is the beauty of it's sadness. when spring comes this soil will blossom with flowers, and green grass. friendly squirrels circulating our parks. when spring comes.
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