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"He likes everything to be under his control." I frowned, and held the statement up to the light. I'd never framed my life in so few words. My father likes everything to be under his control.

"He likes everything to be under his control." I frowned, and held the statement up to the light. I'd never framed my life in so few words. My father likes everything to be under his control.

there was a park not too far away from her father's bar. sometimes before it opened, she and her father (sometimes her uncle) would go. she loved the swings.

there was a park not too far away from her father's bar. sometimes before it opened, she and her father (sometimes her uncle) would go. she loved the swings.

A picture of Cosenza, Calabria, Italy. My paternal grandfather's hometown. I hope to visit one day.

A picture of Cosenza, Calabria, Italy. My paternal grandfather's hometown. I hope to visit one day.

Photographer unknown, 1950s  the one on the left hello  so hot im actually crying  Oh god, feeling weezy  why dont boys look like this anymore wtf  yes omg ^  why did we go from this to baggy pants and snap backs?

Photographer unknown, 1950s the one on the left hello so hot im actually crying Oh god, feeling weezy why dont boys look like this anymore wtf yes omg ^ why did we go from this to baggy pants and snap backs?

Sicily....    http://www.citypictures.net/r-europe-148-italy-222-selinunte-sicily-italy-2600.htm

Sicily.... http://www.citypictures.net/r-europe-148-italy-222-selinunte-sicily-italy-2600.htm

"Awake, in the frames of windows, innocent children,  Loving the blue, sprayed leaves of childish life,  Applaud the bearded corn, the bleeding grape,  And cry:  "Here is the hay-colored sun, our marvelous cousin,  Walking in the barley,  Turning the harrowed earth to growing bread,  And splicing the sweet, wounded vine."  Thomas Merton, "Aubade: Lake Eerie"

"Awake, in the frames of windows, innocent children, Loving the blue, sprayed leaves of childish life, Applaud the bearded corn, the bleeding grape, And cry: "Here is the hay-colored sun, our marvelous cousin, Walking in the barley, Turning the harrowed earth to growing bread, And splicing the sweet, wounded vine." Thomas Merton, "Aubade: Lake Eerie"

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