When the World Goes Quiet

by Gian Sardar

There is nothing worse than silence, in a moment after. Ask a woman who’s just given birth. Ask a father who saw a wagon tip and is running, calling out names. Ask a daughter whose mother didn’t make it into the shelter, because of her. Silence screams loudest of all.

Sometimes fault is also like a wind. It slips into cracks and fills spaces.

in the midst of a war that wasn’t ending, entrenched with unspeakable horror and loss, the only correct way to live was whatever way they could.

A bullet kills at the end of the war the same way it does at the start.”

Isn’t it wonderful, when what someone perceives is even better than what’s there?

The painting was a promise: Your world doesn’t need to be the one others see. Like

“Right and wrong—those ideas not only depend on who tells the story, but on when the story stops. Or when it starts. Wouldn’t you agree? Not everyone gets the full picture. When you’re in the midst of something, it’s hard to see that. Though we’re at the end of this war, we’re still very much in the midst.

shouldn’t be thankful we’ve survived;

we should be angry we’ve not lived.

trust is a wager no one wants to make—