Here we go again; back in the same endless loop.

The war in Gaza enters its twenty-first month. Streets lie in ruins. Smoke curls above. Israeli forces have killed at least 50,000 Palestinians, with some estimates reaching over 150,000. They were killed by airstrikes, shelling, and gunfire—in their homes, under the rubble, and on the streets.

Behind closed doors, a new ceasefire deal is in the works. Qatar and Egypt broker the talks. The US backs it. Israel agrees. Hamas still weighs its options. Sixty days of quiet. Ten Israeli hostages returned. Eighteen bodies given back. Hundreds of Palestinian prisoners freed. Partial Israeli pullback from places like the Netzarim corridor.

Aid trucks roll in—up to 600 a day. Food and fuel. A fragile lifeline. Three steps: pause, release, rebuild. But demands stay firm. Israel says Hamas must disarm. Hamas wants Israel out—completely.

A new proposal. The war goes on. The killing does not stop.

People don’t react. They check their phones, then put them down. They look at the sky and pray. No one claps. No one speaks; just waiting.

We’ve heard it before. The same headlines. The same hope that flickers and dies.

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And still, we ask ourselves, quietly:

Will it be real this time?

The question no longer needs a voice. It breathes through clenched jaws, in hands that shake without rest, in eyes too dry to cry again. In Gaza, the question is not asked. It is lived minute by minute, explosion by explosion.

Time doesn’t pass. It drags. Each second slips by like a rope through your hands. Burning, vanishing before you can hold it. The air never feels still. Even silence trembles — not with peace, but with waiting.

There is no safe hour. No pause.

Even sleep is war. If we manage to sleep at all, that is.

The constant buzz of drones

The sound never leaves. It hovers above the tents, above the rubble, inside your bones. It follows you into the toilet, into your sleep, into your dreams. You try to ignore it, but it’s louder than you ever thought possible. It’s a warning — always a warning. You are seen.........

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