WolfyJames
A woman, wearing a white dress, is in a cemetary, her back on us. With her left hand, she caresses a grave, while with the right hand, she caresses the statue of an angel. In her back stands eight cups.
It looks like she's about to go, but she's pausing before, hesitating, caressing her surrendings with nostalgia. The cups in her back are weight that don't want to let her go, weight that block her, anchoring her to this place.
It looks like she's about to go, but she's pausing before, hesitating, caressing her surrendings with nostalgia. The cups in her back are weight that don't want to let her go, weight that block her, anchoring her to this place.