The Warsaw Ghetto
He sat on his windowsill, watching the stars turn in lazy circles above him, like an extraterrestrial dance routine that only the sleepless know.
The apartment was unbearably congested by day, his family, his grandparents, his aunt and his cousins, all crowded into a space barely fit for five people.
But at night, when the sun sinks into the skyline, and the night sighs, he could be alone.
The night was good for thinking, good for remembering.
He had a childhood once, not a particularly good one, but a childhood nonetheless.
It was an unbearably hot summer, and he was quickly growing out of his own adolescence.
He thought about the days spent in sunny pastures, nights playing ball games in the street.
Once in awhile, he can
He sat on his windowsill, watching the stars turn in lazy circles above him, like an extraterrestrial dance routine that only the sleepless know.
The apartment was unbearably congested by day, his family, his grandparents, his aunt and his cousins, all crowded into a space barely fit for five people.
But at night, when the sun sinks into the skyline, and the night sighs, he could be alone.
The night was good for thinking, good for remembering.
He had a childhood once, not a particularly good one, but a childhood nonetheless.
It was an unbearably hot summer, and he was quickly growing out of his own adolescence.
He thought about the days spent in sunny pastures, nights playing ball games in the street.
Once in awhile, he can