viernes, 24 de febrero de 2017

The fight is never over.

You looked so frail, in your hospital gown, barely able to breathe, talking to people who weren't there in a language that wasn't yours. Memories of childhood and war seemed to find their way to your mind, in the shape of bullets and the sound of blasts. I thought, that last time I held your hand, that it would be the last forever, that I would never be able to look into your clear blue eyes again. How glad I am that I was wrong, that the same strength that keeps me walking is running through your veins. Ste yuj, yu gonplei no ste odon. 

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