In the hard geometry of the overpass, where sun bleaches concrete and shadows sharpen steel, a single form yields to an unseen weight. Her spine traces a delicate arch of surrender, a counterpoint to the rigid structures that surround her. With her face hidden by a fall of hair, she becomes an anonymous monument to a private sorrow, marked only by the faint bloom tattooed on her skin. It is a quiet folding inward, a silent collapse in a world that continues its indifferent rhythm around her.
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