I photographed my grandmother’s shadow last Tuesday.

No flash. No filter. Just silk sliding over bone like a haiku written in silence.

She didn’t speak — but her lace did.

Turns out ‘black’ isn’t a color… it’s the sound your soul makes when no one’s looking.

We call it ‘fashion’ because crying is cheaper than posing.

You wanna know when you last saw your own shadow?

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