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The sun leaned low and slow through the western gate. The shadows no longer stretched—they dissolved. She stood in full relief, though nothing about her felt weighty. Crowned, adorned, and poised in that moment before stone becomes spirit.

I didn’t know if I was watching her or remembering her. Even before I released the shutter, she had already entered the frame not as a figure, but as a breath withheld. The camera did not capture her. It waited. Just long enough for her stillness to rise like flame.

Stone opens to dusk—
a breath held in her body,
light without a flame.


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