wordsforhire

14 August 1944

My heart is wracked with pain.  My chest feels like there is a hole inside of it trying to suck me dry from the inside.  I can barely hold my…what is supposed to be a pen: the beloved book my father gave me for my birthday two years ago is gone.  I think I left it back at our hiding place.  I did not have time to grab it when the soldiers rushed inside.  I only hope they did not find it so that those that helped us will not be incriminated by my words.  How could I have been so careless to keep their true names?

April 17, 1905

Dear Journal,

Today I am filled with joy one could almost describe me as a giddy school boy.  I mustn’t act that way, though, for I am living my life as an adult now.  My bohemian adventures start here in Vienna, Italy, where I will pursue a career in painting.  I love the painted image.  It is, to me, the true perspective one sees.  There are no lies in art.