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Three women sat at one table. In each of them, a heart beats born in a different time. White plates waiting for a slice of bread baked in a warm brick oven. One remembers the war. She brings calm. The second worries that everyone will come back safe. The third listens to their stories and enters the world with a full breath after the fall of the wall. I touch the hard-working hands of the oldest one, full of love so quiet that it cannot be denied. In her eyes a little girl still lives, the same one who once lost her mother. She is an anchor. She brings comfort and memory. That day and those plates with a slice of bread remain in memory because of them.
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Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 5:50 PM UTC
Three Plates
Three women sat at one table. In each of them, a heart beats born in a different time. White plates waiting for a slice of bread baked in a warm brick oven. One remembers the war. She brings calm. The second worries that everyone will come back safe. The third listens to their stories and enters the world with a full breath after the fall of the wall. I touch the hard-working hands of the oldest one, full of love so quiet that it cannot be denied. In her eyes a little girl still lives, the same one who once lost her mother. She is an anchor. She brings comfort and memory. That day and those plates with a slice of bread remain in memory because of them.
Agnes-de-Lodz
Written by
48/F/Poland
Mar 10
Mar 10, 2026 at 5:50 PM UTC
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