Through the small frame of my glasses I see the world go by. I watch my life through the spiderwebbing of nicks and cracks, the frames that mark the boundary of clear and indistinct. Those glasses saw the end of a war, bodies pulled from a bloody muck; they saw a nation form in patriotic song. Now, they sit just a few feet away, separated from me by an arm that no longer seems to work. Through the blur of my eyes and the lines in my face, I see the blur of my world through the too-far distance between me and the frames of my glasses.

This is an entry for ContestsAndThings 's writing contest. Sorry it was not as good as the previous, (in this book the following chapter). The inspiration here came from the lives of my grandparents whom I recently interviewed for a family history project that had become a pass time of mine. As a glasses person myself, I rely on those tiny frames quite a bit (when I'm not wearing contacts at least XD).