Why Am I Still Alive

At the door of a rural house sits a silent simple old woman in the winter sun. With scattered silver hairs, red swollen eyes, a face full of scars, the old woman lowers her head and shivers feebly, leaning against a shabby dark door. At the door of a rural house sits a silent simple old woman in the winter sun. With scattered silver hairs, red swollen eyes, a face full of scars, the old woman lowers her head and shivers feebly, leaning against a shabby dark door. At the door of a rural house sits a silent simple old woman in the winter sun. With scattered silver hairs, red swollen eyes, a face full of scars, the old woman lowers her head and shivers feebly, leaning against a shabby dark door. At the door of a rural house sits a silent simple old woman in the winter sun. With scattered silver hairs, red swollen eyes, a face full of scars, the old woman lowers her head and shivers feebly, leaning against a shabby dark door.