The war ended.

Right now I feel deep love for the girl of the photo.

Look at her!


Is she not the most beautiful girl in the world?

Is she not, who in 1957 became my mother?

I was not a good Son to her.

I was too selfish to understand, too emotionaly restrained to express.

I never cared for her.

I try to repair what is left with the ones who we have become: me and my father.

For her, of course,

because, I did not know that I will never tell her

how much I love her.

Soon,  a new war starts.

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