Miroslav Svatoň, age 22, dead on a barbed wire fence on the Czechoslovakia-Germany border, May 16, 1953
We hoped for a time to sit by the lake. Feel the breeze blow against our faces. We wanted to see the sun descending on the water’s surface. Bursting the ripples with life.
We longed for love. For a kiss. For children. For small arms wrapped around our necks. Hands so small that they could hold onto just one of our fingers.
We dreamed of learning. And growing. And aging. And seeing grandchildren. Teaching them from the reservoir of our knowledge. That all of our mistakes were worth making. Our mistakes could keep the children we love safe. Intact.
But none of this came. We were swallowed up. And forgotten.