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The embroidery on your backpack was done by your grand-mama, who with her arthritic fingers could still sew and embroider with great precision. , ,You trace the flower and leaf pattern on the edges of your backpack and play with the loose threads, which over time, were starting to undo themselves. You could go on for ages about the pins and the embroidery, but you don’t have that time, outside everyone was preparing to leave., ,Getting to your feet, you look around the interior of the Tree-House. The Tree-House seemed to have been crying as the walls now sag with grief and the breeze passing through the leaves sounds like soft sobbing. You trace the chipped brown walls with your fingers and smile sadly at the little drawings and doodles gracing the walls, floor and ceiling. , ,Papa was the only person who could reach the ceiling and drew plants and smiley faces with the blue chalk. Mama was short, so the walls were best suited for her. 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