Rukhsana S. Sukhan Knihy

I once set my heart on fire to eat the love of a man. Only it wasn't love. In very dark corners cruelty can seem very kind. Pathological obsession felt like relief from the frozen tundra of hateful apathy my life had become. I kissed fire. I touched fire. I swallowed fire. I made love to fire. It left me without warmth. This is not a love story. This is about unlove. Unlove is to love as undead is to dead. Unlove is prolonged torment. Looking back, I think the beauty of my torment can only be found in the hope I did not realise I carried like a shield against my heart.