If thou art indeed my father, then hast thou stained thy sword in the life-blood of thy son. And thous didst it of thine obstinacy. For I sought to turn thee unto love, and I implored of thee thy name, for I thought to behold in thee the tokens recounted of my mother. But I appealed unto thy heart in vain, and now is the time gone for meeting.

It hurts to say that,” he said, shrugging. “But better to get hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.

I lay there drifting, wondering, imagining...

Itukan hanya mimpi Amir agha. Dalam mimpi kita bisa melakukan apa saja - Hassan

Ahesta boro, Mah-e-man, ahesta boro.

I want to scream again, and I remember that last time I felt this way, riding with Baba in the tank of the fuel truck, buried in the dark with other refugees. I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this this humid summer night and dissolve somewhere far, over the hills. But I am here, my leg blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. There will be no floating away. There will be no other reality tonight.