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“The soil doesn't forgive, but it does forget. It has forgotten your name, but not the way I knelt that summer, pleading with it as if growth could be bartered with longing. My hands are a little earth now lined, calloused, carrying the scent of what almost was.” — Maimoona Abidi
The soil doesn't forgive,
but it does forget.
It has forgotten your name,
but not the way I knelt that summer,
pleading with it
as if growth could be bartered
with longing.
My hands are a little earth now
lined, calloused,
carrying the scent of what almost was.