The 185th death. [Text and photos sent by Aksa Ashraf] Death finally took Aksa Ashraf. Nobody knew how? She endured herself as much as she could and survived through and through at many phases of being herself. She had died by the intoxication of her ownself, at sunset, her only favourite time of the day. She was here TO LIVE. But she EXISTED. SURVIVED. To hold onto a while. She never understood, why was she the way she was. She was loud, obnoxious, uncertain, flawed, extremely unpredictable and detached. She was seen clicking pictures of skies, sunsets and leafless trees, if not hurling the shards of her broken self to her own people, making them bleed. She was so full of her own