This is the land of your father, and his father before him. Your history is embedded in this soil. No country in the world will love you as yours does.
« Don’t focus on the darkness and sadness, » she says, and I glance up at her. She smiles warmly. « If you do, you won’t see the light even if it’s staring you in the face. »
Time is the best medicine to turn our bleeding wounds to scars, and our bodies might forget the trauma, our eyes might learn to see colours as they should be seen, but that cure doesn’t extend to our souls.