My arms are covered with simple little tattoos. I have twelve now, but I’m adding two more on Saturday. I…
Almost all of the greatest loves (and tragedies) of my life have been painful and incurable. I’ve started to think of myself as a hopeless poet who is forever a slave to forbidden or unrequited love.
He healed me, he quenched my thirst,
And he would show me the way,
To my village, to my family, whom I think of every day.
Just once, I wanted the choice to be who I was, without anyone knowing my history or telling me what to do.
I met Maia, a twenty-year-old girl from just outside of Oslo who was backpacking her way around Europe, surviving off her monthly allowance from the Norwegian government.
In the end, I did lay in bed, thinking just one thought. That thought kept repeating in my head like a mantra. It was raw desire. It was, “knock on my door and kiss me.”
At the time of its publishing in 1949, it was a chilling dystopian tale of what the future could hold. But even now, sixty-nine years later, it is still too real.
I found a city with it’s past so prominent, from the bullet holes in the buildings to the war monuments all over the city. Still, Warsaw stood strong.