Are you sure you can hear us?
Why are you silent? Why aren’t you moving?
You think the war is over… but the war is not over.
You say Gaza is calmer now…
But if the war had truly ended, I wouldn’t be crying over a child from my own family today.
This morning was anything but normal.
I woke up to a scream—
Not a phone notification, but a scream that tears the heart out of the chest.
My cousin’s son was killed.
A child… not even twelve years old.
Enemy warplanes dropped a bomb on a camp where people have nothing but a torn tent—
A tent that can’t even stop the rain… so how could it stop death?
How can anyone say the war is over?
While a mother holds the air because her child’s hug is gone forever?
While a little boy is collected from beneath the rubble?
While we don’t even know if we will see tomorrow, or become another story told before bedtime?
Oh God…
How many children have to die before everyone understands that the war is still pressing on our chests…
and that Gaza is still bleeding?
