New Year’s Eve In A Junkyard: The ‘reject’ hideaway

In the shadows of the night, as a roaming light hits her face briefly, I see a pure form of beauty in her struggle, like the lines across her face connect to form a map- an untold story of the places she had been and the things she had seen. A story begetting many stories that transcend space and time, for a woman, who I noticed, does not acknowledge time.

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Omo Ale

He looked up and held up his hands with one palm outstretched, while the other was balled up in a fist except for a thumb sticking out. I looked at him again and finally found the soft, innocent eyes of a six-year-old.

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