Marsen and Leyla (Part-2)


I was going to shove one end of the lavash into my mouth when I suddenly remembered Mama with an ache. When I was just four or five, sometimes on hot Sunday afternoons Mama would lie down on the cool floor with me wrapped in her arms. She would hold me close till our foreheads were touching and flutter her eyelashes against mine and whisper,” Butterfly, butterfly, flutter your wings…there…” and we would furiously flutter our eyelids against each other, giggling hysterically.

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Marsen and Leyla (Part-2)