an excerpt.
he looked down at his hands. those beautiful hands now wrinkled, littered with scars that were living proof of the battles he had won and lost, were once precious. as i watched him grasp the tip of his cane with confidence only experience could earn, i wondered if he ever felt remorse. my parents died serving him. i wonder if i would, too. the sun came down. i went inside. he continued to wrestle with the night.
wow. i felt like crap like 30 seconds ago. after writing, one feels better.
About Me
an apple tree :)
my hero