Picasso’s Guernica

Does honesty have a limit? At which point are we allowed to openly speak the truth, our acclaimed version of the truth, until we find ourselves, with a twist of fate, bruised with humiliation and pity. Life is an endless walk without stop signs, and if we are not prudent enough, there we would be, lying on the thick white pedestrian lanes, gone, unwary what even hit us.

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9,295 Miles Apart, A Story

Wrapped in a red knitted blanket, Arabella stepped out to the patio for some air. She was greeted with a soft chill breeze making her shiver slightly. Winter was here. A thin layer of snow had delicately covered the leafless trees that surrounded the house. The ground glinted as though it was frosted in white silk, while the sky appeared like one giant pearl hovering from above. It was a beautiful quiet Friday morning.

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