mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary

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wait for your miracles

I clipped a picture at age fourteen, a black and white photo from Time Magazine and I looked at it with old eyes. I stared at it as someone else.
My grandfather, I could never ask him, and even if I did, his accent would have been too thick for me to understand. But I would stare at that blue ink when he dozed off in his chair, the spidery digits, a one eight six and others I don't remember. His daughter, my aunt, made a remark about his smoking: All those survivors, they don't care about lung cancer.
And now I make myself a story, create a web inside my mind to trap these doubts and to give myself purpose. Seven years too old, but I swear my eyes stay the same. A young boy, a young girl, an old woman with flowing white hair; My eyes always stay the same.

4:23 a.m. - 2005-10-09

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