Whispers From the Past

These tranquil fields and quaint villages may cloak themselves in serenity, but they cannot drown out the whispers from the hell I survived. It's as though the earth itself remembers, pulsating with the weight of those lives extinguished far too soon. Here, amongst the blossoming flowers and babbling brooks, I struggle to reconcile the paradox between the devastation etched upon my heart and the peaceful façade before me.

I try to lose myself in the routines of daily life, seeking solace in the gentle presence of my dear sister, Sanford. Yet, the phantoms of war persist, haunting even my most treasured slumber. Sometimes, I wonder if I've merely traded one prison for another – trapped within the confines of my own tortured mind.

And so, I stumble along, navigating this foreign landscape, grasping onto the faintest threads of normality while battling the demons of my past. I yearn for the day when the echoes finally recede, allowing me to breathe freely again, but I know such reprieve remains elusive. Perhaps, in sharing our stories, in honoring the sacrifices made, we can find some measure of redemption, for them, and for ourselves.