like father, like son
I wasn’t born a killer. I wasn’t ‘grown’ into one either. In fact, you would argue, I was born to be killed. The worst time to be Kenyan; the 1920s.
I wasn’t born a killer. I wasn’t ‘grown’ into one either. In fact, you would argue, I was born to be killed. The worst time to be Kenyan; the 1920s.
It is a shockingly cold morning at the tail end of June. And exactly to the day, when Georgina left our home.
In her bag, she packed the memories of our times shared, the air of our coffee-stained kitchen tops, the sweetness of a shared sunset, and the entire weight of my love.