Dear Abigail,
I could tolerate it no longer. My eyes were useless for all things but weeping. My face began to burn and my lips opened only to emit sounds of tainted sorrow. What good is a face if rendered merely a plane for tears to fall? My reflection no longer revealed a face, but a tangible manifestation of regret. What more could I have done?
John
-J.MARIE
Tell me about this image! Your blog is rockin' sister!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Sara! I came across this image while browsing through a photo sharing site. Almost immediately, this whole story of a man in the late 1800's who really messed up with the only woman he ever loved came to my head. Then I kind of thought if he could take a picture of what he did and send it to her with a letter, this is what it would sound like. He would be straight to the point and honest. He knew now that he could never have her back, but he really wanted to show her that he would try anything to clear the regret in his head. He would never forget his actions, and he wanted her to know that.
ReplyDelete