The broken sculpture stands solemnly, as if mourning the weight of existence, fragmented like a soul lost in the endless void. Its rough, jagged surface mirrors the silent agony of a mind caught in despair, facing the distant dome of the church, once a symbol of faith now seeming hollow. The reflection in the shallow water reveals not a clear image, but a distorted echo of what once was, a reminder of the emptiness that lingers in every corner, every shadow.
In this still, monochrome moment, the world feels distant and cold, as if time itself has ceased to matter. The silence speaks louder than any noise, filling the air with a sense of profound isolation. Even the presence of the grand structure feels irrelevant, like a relic from a past that no longer holds meaning, swallowed by the quiet grip of depression and the vast expanse of nothingness that surrounds it.
Kraton Kush 
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