I take photographs, I write poetry, slap-back pieces on civilisation and I'm currently writing my second novel.
And in that moment, they were free, no consignments, no ties to cause anymore hurt, the world went silent and the ringing in his ears subsided to the whispers of trees outside his window. She, as beautiful as before, now safe from the haunting feeling of guilt which she had never deserved. The war was over, they could see the planes retreat in an amiable pattern which left the sky line writing words of captive surrender. They were safe, his mind had returned from a captive hell, tears of rejoice sparkled from clear eyes, he could see the color and touch it with fresh hands. She was safe in darkness, she was safe in the coldest bathrooms and she smiled for the very first time. Retreat! Retreat! The war is over.