My love always arrived wrapped in silence, wrapped in dust. But that was childhood.
He brought the jasmine to his nose, inhaled its narcotic sweetness, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was true.
I love the texture of your hair and I wanted to tell you about it in far too many words than either you or I are comfortable with.
I stared at the row of pre-peeled and packaged tangerines sealed tightly under plastic wrap.
Let me cut out your mother’s tongue and lay it down beside you like my mother did with mine.
My love always arrived wrapped in silence, wrapped in dust. But that was childhood.
He brought the jasmine to his nose, inhaled its narcotic sweetness, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was true.
I love the texture of your hair and I wanted to tell you about it in far too many words than either you or I are comfortable with.
I stared at the row of pre-peeled and packaged tangerines sealed tightly under plastic wrap.
Let me cut out your mother’s tongue and lay it down beside you like my mother did with mine.
Rank badges, small bags, books, diaries, notebooks, files… That’s when it caught Razeen’s eye: a weathered, dusty old envelope bearing a faint, unrecognisable logo.
