I MET A YOUNG BOSNIAN WOMAN in Sarajevo who told me there “was nothing like love in Sarajevo during the siege.” All the joy and sadness in the world enriched her eyes. They shone like two tears of blue obsidian. Over a beer, she showed me a set of song lyrics she had written. “This comes from my heart,” she said. “The good ones usually do,” I responded.
She sang low, a cappella, there in the little café. It was a sad tune and I turned my head away from her at the end and told her I needed another drink.
She had picked up the phone one day in Australia and answered a call from a Bosnian soldier fighting the Serbs. It was a wrong number, but he explained he was calling from Sarajevo. Over the days they talked on the phone and soon they fell in love with…
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