“In Palestine, a boy runs straight through his father’s ghost in hopes of becoming a man. He tries on shirts that were left behind. Pinches in the extra fabric. His mother sees this and covers her eyes. There is a special kind of tired that comes with raising someone the world will give a quick vanish to. In Palestine, a girl plays hopscotch with missing friends. Takes turns for all of them. Holds in the lonely and catches it every time it spills. In Palestine, the youngest ones are careful not to wake the sleeping dragon in the sky. One wrong move and the whole world goes to smoke. In Palestine, the birds know when the worst is coming. They cut the kite strings every time. In Palestine, things disappear. First, dreams. Eventually, whole people. If nothing else, give them the eulogy they deserve. Bring the mothers the bodies, those poor bodies. No matter how ruined, no matter how far they’ve been undone. No matter how much of the world won’t remember their name.”— Y.Z, In Palestine
(via allblackerrthingus)
