22 Feb 2014

I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.

Would it scare you away, if I asked questions, I doubt there is little you are afraid of. Would you allow me to whittle down the armour and tell me more? What does your brother say of this? I know he visits you often, in your nightmares and dilemmas. His gaping mouth and innocuous eyes are etched in my memory. I have so much to remember.

Why assign your mind to acknowledge your mother, and save your soul for father. Why love him still, when he left you morosely at home, alone with your nightmares and went to fought war. You made peace with your mother though. Was it when her scrunched silhouette hugged her husband's accordion in the dead of night?

I'm at loss of words. Words! Ah, your incongruous penchant for words! Why did you write to him, about him in a diary and not to him ín person. . Those dutiful words would've come to your rescue when you still had time. Alas! Too late. I have kept the diary safe with me, for years now

Did you see me that day? I saw you that day. I knelt by besides you. I watched it all when the skies rained fire and a lemon haired boy was kissed, repeatedly, told he was loved, always loved. The bomb hit lips won't move. The machinations of time and love moved me. Your best friend. Fourteen forever.

Ìt hurt me to take him away,so much life, so much energy. I'm chained to my infamy. But, yes, I have a heart. Even death has a heart.

I shall cling to his words for a long time

Words of Markus Zusak

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