A different garden

To you, it was just picking flowers. To them, it was a massacre. by: pleasefindthis, I Wrote This For You

If you didn’t see the boarded windows, the dirty floors, walls, and ceilings, it was just a camp house..just rows of camp houses.

If you only saw the beautiful trees and flowers and grass…. you could believe it was only someone’s garden.

If you didn’t see the barbed wire fences and the guard shacks and the destroyed crematoriums, you might be able to envision a time it could have been a lovely place to live.

If you didn’t have the memories or the knowledge of the left behind shoes, the combs, the luggage and the hair…the horror of the hair….

This is no garden …we should never forget…this is no garden.

I need you to understand something. I wrote this for you. I wrote this for you and only you. Everyone else who reads it, doesn’t get it. They may think they get it, but they don’t. This is the sign you’ve been looking for. You were meant to read these words. by: pleasefindthis, I Wrote This For You