There is hardly anything left to hold us together. The threads that have been cut will not find their way to healing. The eyes are strangers to me, silent observers. Their gazes on the gaping wound. Open for all to see.
Only rarely do I notice that it is the strange eyes that still drive me forward.
All postcards come in a noble matt finish with a soft touch feeling on the front and with a black, uncoated back. The back is writable with white or colored ink.
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