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Description
Look at the hands. As if they had just finished saying something that remained hanging in the air. Hair tangled with poppy heads. It is not an ornament. It is a memory. Of dreams that hurt… and heal. Her expression does not invite you. But it will not let you leave. Something in the eyes, not a question, not an answer. Just a quiet "I know". Here, beauty is not being played at. Here, you stay, even when it stings. And suddenly you remember that you once felt it. In a dream, in a verse, in the breath taken just before you fell asleep.