When We Speak of Home 1 When we speak of homeWe speak of casualties, speak
You were both crossing the grounds next to the Faculty Hall. A slight wind rustled the leaves and the low grass, bending and shaking them, filling the night with eerie whispers. Branches creaked. Looking up, the moon’s dull luminescence seemed a bit ominous to you. The stars, as always, were innumerable.
his lover’s chest
broad and flat but bursting at the seams with love
Faiza: (smiles) What about me do you think of?
Arinze: I think of your bushy brows and your big eyes, your lush skin. And your smile. When you smile, it is like the moon.