Life in Kabul was an endless cycle of despair, a never-ending nightmare that refused to release its grip. — 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.