When it all goes, when it all escapes, what do we have left? Is there a soul? Is there a right, a wrong, a limbo of sorts for those whose lives haven't met societies expectations? I feel the frost in my fingertips but clench harder into the back of the truck. My other hand holding a camera close to my heart. It's the only thing I have for now as the morning sun fills the faces and dark undertones of the village.
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