He was standing in an old road, rutted and ancient, that wound up a black hill towards the sky, where a great flock of black birds was gathering. The birds were like black letters against the grey of the sky. He thought that in a moment he would understand what the writing meant. The stones in the ancient road were symbols foretelling the travelers journey.
10 May 2010
I'm Alive at Last
“ To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." --Oscar Wilde
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