Did you know, Void?

Hi Void,

Did you know that I used to collect dreams the way some people collect souvenirs?

Each one, a little treasure I held close.

I had a list. Messy, chaotic, full of hope,of everything I wanted to do.

I wanted to learn to cook, properly cook, the way my mum did. She made food taste like home.

I wanted to bake bread that filled the house with warmth. To try, fail, laugh, and try again.

I wanted to play an instrument, maybe the oud or piano or the cello, just to feel the sound under my fingers.

I wanted to paint, not for anyone else, just for me, skies, oceans, cityscapes, all the places I wanted to go.

I wanted to sing out loud without fear, even if I wasn’t good.

I wanted to build something of my own, a business, a life, a future. Continue my career i worked so hard on to graduate with honors.

I dreamed of freelancing as an architect, to design places where people lived not just existed.

To compete in international challenges, and architecture competitions, to stand with my team again, to win together, to feel that fire.

I wanted to travel, not to escape, but to explore, to see the beauty of a world I admired from afar.

To feel small in the middle of mountains, to breathe in air that wasn’t choked with smoke, drones, fire or fear.

I wanted people to know me. Not for tragedy, but for the things I built.

I wanted to leave a mark, a story worth telling.

You know?

Now I am a shadow of that girl.

I walk through ruins and rubble not just of buildings, but of everything I loved.

The world I adored, the world I believed in, turned cold.

It watched us starve. It watched us fall. It watched as famine and seige took us one by one.

They wear their neat suits, speak of peace and humanity, and then send missiles that rip through families like mine.

We line up for aid, and it feels like stepping into a trap.

No safety, no dignity, just the hunger games played in real life.

They drop flour, we run. If we’re lucky, we get to live another day.

If not, we get a bullet instead. That’s the price. That’s the "humanitarian aid" they send.

I had dreams, Void. Now all I have is me.

And even that feels like a curse.

Because I am the last. The only one left with my family’s name.

No more dad’s voice, no mum’s hands, no laughter from Sam or teasing from Loay. No adorable tight hugs from my niece. Or silly moments with my sisters.

No home to return to, no one to call me in for dinner.

I see videos, happy families, gatherings, full tables, full hearts.

And I just want one meal.

One single meal where we are together.

To hear their voices again, to feel their presence, just once.

Is that too much to ask? Is that so hard? to want a table, a meal, a moment of peace?

What am I now, Void?

Not who I was. That's for sure.

Not who I was meant to be.

I am what remains.

I am memory and grief wrapped in skin.

I am the echo of all they were.

I am alone… and still here.

But for how long, Void?

How long before I, too, vanish like the rest?

How long before there is no one left to remember our names?

Maybe the world won’t notice when I’m gone.

Maybe it already doesn’t.

Maybe I was never meant to survive them.

Maybe this...this silence, is all that’s left for us.

Just promise me one thing, Void...

Remember us.

We were never statistics in a book.

We were people.

We had names, voices, goals, dreams.

We lived. We loved. We laughed. We existed just like the rest.

And we deserved More. So much more.

.

.

Aura 🍉

2:58 AM

Fri, 1st Aug