Sublime

She was in love with Alim Blake. She was going home to Brooklyn. That was the solid ground she could stand on, no matter what. Anything else was unpredictable, a current careening past, seizing and discarding whoever and whatever it wanted.

So, madness and mess. Something that took up space. Something that felt furiously alive, because survival could be so very, very angry.

“Trust is built. I could say the same shit a thousand times, but it’s what I do that matters.”

Hers is a heaviness that soothes.

Like even if I still felt alone, at least I felt like I was alone next to your alone, like our alones could walk together. And you”—Feyi ran a hand over her face—“ah, fuck. You feel like the first time in a long time I can even wonder about a possibility of not feeling alone.”

Chimamanda Adichie and Helon Habila. She cited Kaine Agary’s Yellow-Yellow as a book that’s similar