When I recollect her, I see a long list of colors, but it's the three in which I saw her in the flesh that resonate the most. Sometimes I manage to float far above those three moments. I hang suspended, until a septic truth bleeds toward clarity. That's when I see them formulate:
THE COLORS RED: {rectangle}
WHITE: {circle}
BLACK: {swastika}
They fall on top of each other. The scribbled signature black, onto the blinding global white, onto the thick soupy red."
THE COLORS RED: {rectangle}
WHITE: {circle}
BLACK: {swastika}
They fall on top of each other. The scribbled signature black, onto the blinding global white, onto the thick soupy red."
( Markus Zusak )
[ The Book Thief ]
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