— Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima, Mon Amour (1959)
When you havent been able to pray in a while and finally hit your forehead in sujood or open the qur’an and the words roll off your tounge and it feels like youve returned home and the cold outside doesnt matter anymore.
omg this is truth
the feeling like you got home
and home isnt a place its a feeling, when you feel that the one you love the most is there