Written on a sepia-toned postcard of blood-stained snow:
The heart of mine
buried with you
burns with the ache
Where a stamp could go but there is only sadness:
Pine Ridge POW Camp
December 29, 1890
I am haunted by your history.
emailFacebookTwitterPinterestTumblrStumbleUponDiggReddityou don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone is the gift that keeps on giving. when i lived in france with my parents, backdropped with the jura mountains all fresh air, trees and snow, i enjoyed every moment of it because something told me it would be a long time before i got to… Read full post.
emailFacebookTwitterPinterestTumblrStumbleUponDiggRedditthat things were not quite so bad before until we enter into an even worse situation, or go deeper into an existing one. drunk people are not wise no matter how much they think they are. they only get more glassy eyed, they slur their words and don’t remember the simple things you just spent… Read full post.