The squeals and cries of children, At young ages, death they were to face. A fate they have not chosen, Reduced to smoke in the chimneys and gone without a trace.
The cold the hunger the seemingly endless torture, Of sufferings the victims dared not mutter. Living for oneself forgetting those once held dear, Blood is no longer thicker than water.
Read Night. by Ellie Wiesel.
&in search of every other reason just to see you.
YYY
blabbered at;
5:26 AM
♥/she
.[W]EIrd's the word
.three e _tr[E]asurer
.two b _c[I]p rep
.rvco! _[L]ibrarian
.twenty n[I]ne sept.
.spca _stude[N]t