happy exmess.

the young girl leaned against a concrete pillar, her body language emanating a sense of sadness. she was a matchstick girl; her dark locks only highlighted her waif-like thinness. eyes are the windows to the soul, and hers were a deep, unsmiling black, and to me seemed filled with a deep sadness. she walked away through the IDP camp to play with an old can, a stone and an old black plastic bag in the dirt. she played, but didn't seem to be enjoying herself; it seemed to be a way of passing time.