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Moving On

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My grief is like a storm which rumbles to an end. The wind dies down the current slackens on the shoals white clouds stretch across the sky like huge confections. I still recall the splendor of her smile the solace Read more ›

Ghosts of Budapest

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They drift across the city like clouds reflected in a lake. You come upon them when you least expect to, wedged in the evening crowds of spiked hair and leather pants, asleep on benches by the Opera or makeshift mattresses Read more ›