She will always be an unfinished poem. Unfinished in the way she lives -where passion collides with fear,and potential and failure reside in the same home. There is this great risk,a constant edge of falling apartno matter what she pursues.That’s her way through the world. I wonder if she chooses this incompletionor if fate carved it into her life before she ever had a say.And I wonder -if I finish something she couldn’t,would that mean her fate isn’t mine after all?
- Nur Houda Or

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