Be home soon —

A house stands upon a shady hill. It beckons with girlish trim. A fitting façade, for what might have been. Through the autumn leaves it beckons: Come closer. Stillness, broken by dainty footsteps and giggles, reminiscent, amidst curtains and spindles. Come closer still... peer within to find emptiness behind the windowsill. Folded, torn, paper thin—just lacy exposure from film. Not a photo; more than that. A card with postage kissed upon its back. A turning point, very concrete: a Name, a Street. An urgent message scrawled in scripted hand—signed with passionate blotted Initials. Faceless people and unfamiliar places; no date, but a Moment that makes the pit of the stomach ill. A smear of blood and tears—or was it just the ink and rain? So eerie that it's real. No one left to console, though the artifact evidences that it happened not so very long ago. A relentless wind whips around a desolate imaginary figure. Tragic and timeless standing like some warrior upon an empty hill, I see him holding out his bleeding heart... red stamped white flag fluttering in retreat. Utterly alone, so far from home.

—Return to Sender, Address Unknown.