Zikora

by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Time spent on remembering, time lost on remembering.

I read somewhere that love was about this, the nuggets of knowledge about our beloved that we so fluently hold.

How you imagine something will be is always worse than how it actually ends up being,”

the boy I was trying to make love me when I didn’t yet know that you cannot nice your way into being loved.

I believed then that love had to feel like hunger to be true.