At Night, I Listen To A Siren Song

Day Nineteen: Before the war, I didn’t realise that a silent night is a privilege.

War is a small word. Tiny. The consequences it carries on the studded shoulders are tremendous. It gives little — if anything at all — and takes away disparately more.

What a bitch?

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Tony, The Curator

Tony, The Curator

Curating tiny moments of my life, and your stories, too