Thanks to everyone stopping by last week and a special thanks to those who left a comment. I really appreciate it.
I’m re-posting a story which I started a many years ago. It’s written in first POV, which has been a challenge to say the least. So, some of you may know the story already, but I’d appreciate constructive critique ☺
After a while I just give up. The “human traffic” has stopped, but dinner (or is it lunch time?) is about to be served. I make an effort and re-read Grandma’s next diary entry. She must’ve had a bad day, because her handwriting wasn’t the best that day. I curse myself for not having listened to Mum better when she tried to teach me Fraktur, but in all fairness, how was I supposed to know that I’d need it one day. Back then, it felt like a dead language to me. Not language, but you know what I mean. Dead alphabet.
“I heard from Konrad again today. His letters are such a light in these miserable days nowadays. Me and the children stayed in the cellar most of the day because of the bomb attacks. He’s in Greece. I read the letter to the children as he described the scenery and the sea. The blue of the water must’ve taken his breath away. I wish I could be there with him. Still, I wish I could just BE with him. I miss him.”
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