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My dream of Senem riding a lawnmower over a field of rocks was a premonition. Because I wanted to see inside them, I gave her this task: split them apart for me; crack them open. Let me see the inside of every stone. 

Will it bleed? Is it a seed? Seeds are containers. Time travelers. They reveal the past and future. If one goes extinct, a part of us dies with it. Here in this pile of rubble is a miracle. A life you can save. Find the one that bleeds. I need to believe in salvation. 

When we were dying I took you to a pile of rocks and said, "One of these is my heart. Bring it back to me". 

You said you’d fight but never imagined it would be like this. But god you tried until your own hands were grey and smashed. 

Because you gave me hope, I will marry you. But it must be a marriage of our own making. Marriage can be anything: A rock. A seed. Your bleeding hand in mine. A cherry pit I spit on the ground. 

But I know you like watermelons best so I will sow you a row of them 
with my mouth as a wedding gift.