Last night, I re-read a message that my boyfriend, who is back in Beirut, sent me on the 13th of July. We were scheduled to meet up in Spain five days later for a music festival.
"My aya, let's just wait and see what's going to happen these two days. It's not going to last."
It's almost been a month.
He's now in Syria applying for a visa to come to London, just in case.
What frightens me the most is that this is what people must've thought back in 1975. "It'll be over this week, let's just wait and see." And before they knew it, fifteen years had passed...
What I fear more than coming back to a disfigured home is coming back fifteen years passed, like my parents did once before.
1 comment:
and we are afraid of leaving it to then come back to it.
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