How did she get here?
She walked...walked toward the fence.
It's the one constant.
There's always a fence.
She came alone. Swept along
with the refugees.
Maybe an orphan -
but no one knows for certain.
She stands by the fence.
Waiting. She watches.
Expecting someone to come
from across the fence.
Little refugees
grow up waiting by the fence...
older and angry.
They survived a lot.
So now they stand by the fence.
Waiting...
for something.
From Writer's Cramp @ Wordpress
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