“Come with me!” ordered the hostile crumpled face, as she walked ahead with my future in her hands. Each step behind the greying curls was weighed down by exhaustion, my encroaching fear threatened with the rancid taste of bile.
“Leave all your belongings here. Someone will come get you.”
“Please, sorry … I don’t understand, what is going on?”
“Again, leave your belongings; someone will come when they’re ready.”
Dismayed and motionless, my eyes followed the little green book fading down the corridor… my Passport.
My Love, waiting for me on the other side of Customs with bated breath.
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