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“I think love lives in her hands the way they hold broken things without asking them to become whole again. Sometimes I think she’s made of night and mercy and when I fall apart, she lays the broken pieces on her bedside table like a poem she’s promised never to forget.” — Maimoona Abidi
I think love lives
in her hands
the way they hold broken things
without asking them
to become whole again.
Sometimes I think
she’s made of night and mercy
and when I fall apart,
she lays the broken pieces
on her bedside table
like a poem she’s promised
never to forget.