The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

Sometimes I don't know if my eyes are opened or closed, I believe it relies on whether my book is opened... or closed. "I've been reading as if books were to no further exist and these are my last days of delight" My mind was running its annoyingly monologue....again. as if I had nothing else to think of. I hate how it comes unexpectedly, and always far away from a pen and paper. It feels as if its not my own mind. I was walking, as usual from the bus stop to my home. Home? Was I even supposed to call it that way? I certainly have some issues over the word. My house? Keine Ahnung. Anyways...Between the letters at the holocaust museum and this book I let my mind wander around those thoughts and feelings, how awfully they were

crushed and how they're nothing but wind now.

Write me a letter,but lie, tell me it's all better

tell me about sorrow, and your dreams for tomorrow

tell me how you feel, when they make you kneel,

tell me what is life, from the prospect of mice

tell me what you wish, when you hear them hiss

but lie, please lie

since I want to remember you well and alive.

If i had a penny for every time i knew something about germans, my account would be like wall street in the 1920's and the minute later in 1929. There is one thing I'm sure of... they dance as if there is nobody watching, but also burp and blow they're noses as if nobody was listening.