Yet each man kills not the thing he loves, Oscar, rather what he cannot love. Stirred by affection, my buried pain of profound childhood

The clouds above you form as the moon rises, you try to give them a sense of purpose, you know that the messenger with the bad news won’t...

My home in Syria, loud bangs I hear, my hands on my ears, mama say bombs fall from the sky, she grab me down the stairs like she is the wind