He still looks dark and dirty.
But faded, like he was the photograph. Not the man worn with time.
His wrinkles are at bay. But the color… is not vibrant.
Life is a battle and your death is for honor.
Tags: my father
The world through rose colored glass.
This is a tumblelog, kinda like a blog but with short-form, mixed-media posts with stuff I like. Scroll down a bit to start reading, or a bit more to read more about me.
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