“ Grief loves the hollow, all it wants is to hear its own echo. ”
And I remember this man who never ran out of poems telling me once that knowing a book by heart is like carrying a house inside your chest.
~ Hisham Matar
And I remember this man who never ran out of poems telling me once that 'knowing a book by heart is like carrying a house inside your chest.
There has not been a day since his sudden and mysterious vanishing that I have not been searching for him, looking in the most unlikely places. Everything and everyone, existence itself, has become an evocation, a possibility for resemblance. Perhaps this is what is meant by that brief and now almost archaic word: elegy
Can you become a man without becoming your father?
