my new favorite post on tumblr
The Kite Runner.
Some nights he would take that first step into the house and know, he could feel it, that something bad was heading his way. She’d be standing in the kitchen, under the bright light, a glass of wine dangling in her small hand.
Lips stained purple. An almost smile.
Broken glass. Wine dripping…
Some nights after his meeting with the other ‘Fathers With Murdered Children’ he would drive home in a cocoon. His body wound tight. There was no release there. No answers. Just grief.
Other Fathers crying. Other Fathers holding their faces in their hands. Other fathers…
at New York City, Times Square
don’t date anyone who doesn’t want to hear your favorite song, watch your favorite movie, read your favorite book