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Smoke gets into the eyes

There was a betel wine that fondly and fiercely cuddled on to a yellow flower tree in my courtyard. They lived together, with each other, intertwined, for as long as I remember.

I will pluck the tender betel leaves for chewing pan, and my grandma will gently sweep the fallen yellow flowers from the courtyard everyday at dawn. The dying flowers huddled together in their final journey to the recycling pit. 

One fine day, grandma did not wake up, and in a month, we had lost her

One rainy day, not long after i saw last of my grandma, the yellow flower tree got uprooted. It died too, with the sweet betel vine.

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