Life
LIFE
Coyingly sweet smell of lilies floats in the air. The white flowers are one week old reminiscence of our late father's commemoration ceremony. Today, in the cold room, they stand alone in a quartz vase, each facet of its cut reflecting crystal-clear lights of early morning sunshine. I stand, with a cup of hot green tea in hand, in front of them. They look even more flourishing and vigorous, imposing its overwhelming presence of the living upon the portrait of the deceased.
