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The stone was still breathing. Not with sound, but with a warmth that remained after rain had left the corridor. I crouched just beyond her gaze, careful not to enter it too directly. She faced the morning with a quiet so complete it seemed impossible she’d been carved.

The lotus she held had softened. Its edges had blurred from weather, yet the gesture endured. Her fingers still curved with intention. There was no pleading in it. No performance. Only the offering itself.

I set the exposure and stepped back. Long exposures ask for more than time—they ask for stillness in return. I gave what I could. The rest came from her.


Her face never asked—
but light answered.
The wind passed
without stirring
the lotus.

Shadow ran its finger
down her shoulder,
pausing
where rain had stayed.

I kept the shutter open
until the hush inside me
matched the hush in her.


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