On a fall day, I found my old memory box that my auntie discreetly gave me when she left for the beyond. Its cracked look reminded that we lost her for quite a long time; There is so much beauty in the stories that she told me, when I was child. Each item brings me back to a fragment of her past, her youth, her forgotten dreams.

In my lost valley, stuck between autumn and winter, where the mist fills up with melancholy and dreams, I rewrote the tale of handkerchiefs in the wind, the romance of the world in-between...

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