The air is heavy and suffocates your gut with a rotten feeling. At all costs, I can’t wrap my mind around the atrocities that happened here. Acts so shameful, so infamous, they dishonor the human race. Death lingers in the air and I try to imagine the ghosts that fill this wretched patch of land. I know they are here, somewhere. I can feel them.
I took the overnight train into Auschwitz and arrived at 5am. Round trip via Prague, via Paris, via Kansas City, via a small town I ultimately call home. 70 years ago a similar yet vastly different one-way voyage was made across the fertile hills to southern Poland by the millions. But this is not a rambling on about history, it’s about freedom— a word with visceral composition in a place like Auschwitz, in this seemingly godless void.
The early morning fog shrouded the facade…
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