In a city consumed by darkness, hope was a flickering candle, its flame threatened at every gust of wind. — Yasmina Khadra

The Swallows of Kabul soared above the rooftops, their wings carrying them to a place where dreams were allowed to exist.

In Kabul, dreams were dangerous, for they gave us something to lose.

Kabul, love was a wounded bird, with broken wings and a fragile heart.