"There was this particular cluster of chrysanthemums in her mother's garden, she used to walk among them, with her earth stained hands, under the shadow of a weeping willow, emerald tears of nature brushing her shoulders. The trunk of the tree was dark and twisted, hunched almost like a person would. She remembered thinking that perhaps it was the portrait of a face it had seen long ago, a body curled into itself, and melancholic eyes hidden inside the glistening bark, entwined with unspoken wails of forgotten pains. Perhaps, it was mimicking her all along, seeing within, years before, the lingering sadness that would manifest and take her body and soul."