Zikora

by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Time spent on remembering, time lost on remembering.

I closed my eyes. In my head, there was a queue of emotions I could not name, wanting to be tried out one after the other. A fog blanketed me, a kind of deadness. I didn’t cry; crying seemed too ordinary for this moment.

Some kindnesses you do not ever forget. You carry them to your grave, held warmly somewhere, brought up and savored from time to time.