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It was morning and the house was quiet
for everyone has left the house,
only vague noises of vehicles and chattering rushed in,
if not the silent breeze of wind.
Everyone but a man stayed. He walked out slowly from
his bedroom toward the clear windows.
He opened it and stood still, gazing at the dull, dark
sky through a pair of dreamy eyes.
His figure was strong and stern, even as
the mighty hands of time created soft wrinkles
and grew his breath slightly unsteady.
Only a few strains of black
left among his gray hair. Once the cold air
struck him and he shivered,
he shut the windows and head to the kitchen.
He was still dressed in his old, rugged white pajamas;
the loose white shirt and simple, discolored
trousers enhanced with long vertical black stripes.
It must be the wind.
He opened the refrigerator and prepared a pan.
Some fried tofu and two glasses of tea
And a memory.