Cracked edges, a sepia sigh,
dust motes dancing in a sunbeam,
illuminating faces, ghosts of laughter.
A woman's smile, frozen mid-bloom,
her dress, a whisper of a bygone style,
the fabric's pattern, a forgotten language.
A man's hand, resting on a child's shoulder,
the grip, a silent promise,
now just a shade of warmth, a phantom pressure.
The backdrop, a garden, a street, a...
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