“When my mother died, too soon after my father, my life’s cover was ripped off, leaving behind an unmoored sense of nakedness, a straining and longing to take back time, a desperate addiction to looking away, a terror of acknowledgement, a fear of finality, and, most of all, ceaseless sadness and anger, each sometimes emerging wrapped in the other.”
―
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie,
Dream Count
