Amid the long traffics, the hot afternoons and the polluted streets of Tehran, my brother and his wife search for a new apartment. Soon, they will move out of a sold home. Mom is worried. Apartments are expensive and replacing an old home is far too hard. How do you recreate a home?
I’m tearing my nails and I still can’t accept the inevitability of what’s lost. What’s lost is a solid, concrete home and no matter how good of a memory I have, I won’t ever be able to revisit it. I won’t be able to trace the walls, the doors, the windows.
I can’t cry. The emptiness I feel does not require tears. The emptiness I feel requires nothing. No sadness, no melancholy, no sorrow…just emptiness, like an empty home that has no owner, like a home that has value only in dollars and cents.
Sold.