She slips between the drops, the rain, life. A twist of fate, a one-night stand, what season will she remember? Perhaps tears of spring, where the buds burst like promises of a new love. Or summer drops, warm and fleeting, like bursts of laughter in a starry night. The rain, a silent companion, becomes the witness of the seasons of the soul, from winter storms to gentle autumn twilights. And as she dances on the pavement, the question remains, elusive,1
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