In many ways we dream almost golden, the thorns that might arise breaking the nightfall. beyond the need of intelligence or intellect. A flower unveiling petal by petal, knowingly, the day awaits us to the sweet looming light,
I sensed the depth of the sun’s golden heat narrowing down in the sheer coldness of the morning. The taste of times in stillness. The waves beating out the salt of ocean. Slapping the bank with the tide.
The void of loneliness, is there. The unwanted worries are there. Opened wounds are there- carried in the emptiness of the morning.
The moon and sun are met together, one saying hello and another replied “so long.” “Until next time. Til we are met together- side by side”
I am Eva -former refugee, doctor and a writer. My parents were Holocaust survivors, I escaped communism. I wrote a novel, mixing family stories and fiction. A novel about Holocaust, communism, racism and emigration. What makes people leave, and what happens to the ones who do, and to the ones who stay. I believe these old stories are more important now than ever before.