In a circular room drenched in winter sunlight, a group of young men and women sit cross-legged on the floor. Their eyes are mostly closed. Some lie down prone. Others enlace one another in grief.
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A woman with long hair, barefoot, picks up a guitar: “You’ll be like a bird flying, free,” she sings. “And I will be a sun to the world….”
Together, the voices swell in the room. They are safe here.
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