How does one be a keeper of a home still filled with the aftershock of it all?
Why is there utter stiffness in one’s reaction to witnessing the beginning of what could be the end?
Where does one turn to when they are drowning in the fear of escalation?
When can one process the essence of safety when their innocence of childhood is fading in front of them?
What possesses a person to illuminate that devil-like presence in front of others?
Who is to blame for that lack of anticipation?
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