these random unkind moment that catch you wen you least expect them.
But then it passed, as all things do.
She was the trembler of knees, the spiller of teacups.
Laila has moved on. Because in the end she knows thatโs all she can do. That and hope.
All my life, I'd been around men. That night, I discovered the tenderness of a woman.
I didn't remember what month that was, or what year even. I only knew the memory lived in me, a perfectly encapsulated morsel of a good past, a brushstroke of color on the gray, barren canvas that our lives had become.