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The minor opera

Those days were the days of love. We were wild and free. We were young and beautiful. In the velvet moonlight, dancing by the beach in our blue nightgowns, we couldn’t help singing each other songs all night, bewildering operas that only we could ever dare to sing. The beauty lay upon us.

Happiness is a restless feeling. It may bloom in the summer, but it’s not waterproof either. The same can’t be said wrong about love. The opera suddenly went low. It’s tone dropped. The chord was when that scared the falcons and crows away. It was sad, and desperate. And then it completely broke. The crowd got up to leave. Some left. some jeered. Some felt sorry. And then it was all over.



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