“ If you want to know a country, read its writers. ”
A dread filled me, a dread unlike any I had ever felt. Not the terror of God, or his angels, but the sickly fear of man.
~ Aminatta Forna
I learned about women -- how we are made into the women we've become, how we shape ourselves, how we shape each other.
Yet what use against the deceit of a state are the memories of a child?
The hollowness in his chest, the tense yearning, the loneliness he braces against, every morning until he can immerse himself in work and forget. Not love. Something else, something with a power that endures. Not love, but a memory of love.
