Life's Chokehold—Sealed Tight.

I speak to you now from a deep black pit, where no sun is seen, and no sound is heard, no sensation reaches you here but one, the feeling of slipping ever downwards.

I am tired of waking to the same sound of *booms*, to the whistle that precedes them, the sound of a drone hovering at the window —whether a quadcopter or an Apache, I loathe them both.

I am tired of the drone's buzz at every pitch. The clatter of tank treads. The blast of explosions. The sound of loss, of weeping. The sound of wood splintering from the neighboring roof, the sound of the fan on another roof keeping a fire alive so my neighbor can have a cup of tea after shattering his own mind, and ours*.

The sound of my female neighbors at their windows, recounting the daily horrors of the latest massacre, the prices, the names of the martyrs. The sound of the young man who goes out to the street each day chanting, "No to emigration."

I am tired of looking at my home as if for the last time. Tired of the house shaking for ten minutes straight, of sensing the depletion of people from afar, of the feeling of comfort fading away. I am tired of fear. My shoulders have fused to my neck, for I am always poised for the next blast. I am tired of disappointments _ a word too shallow for the feeling.

I am tired of seeing the night sky turn into a _ carnival of death, Tired of watching my displaced aunt exhaust herself over her ruined home, yet clinging to the hope that it won't be completely leveled, saying, "I swear, just one wall is enough, the important thing is that it doesn't fall."

And now, I wish to wake up to an alarm clock that truly aims for something. l wish to hear the neighbors discussing a recipe for a particular dessert. I wish I could embrace all of Gaza, to hear the chirping of birds.

Truly, where are the birds? Or have they fled to lands where freedom lives?

l want to hear my neighbor laughing with his mother as he always did. To feel the joy on the faces of everyone I see. To be in a state of relaxation more often. To not lose hope in my dreams, even if they are rosier than they should be. For my heart to find rest from this constant "displacement"

To see the sky a deep, kohl-blue, without any sudden, violent change.

I wish to rest from fear. The fear of my own pieces falling away, day by day, moment by moment. I fear I will forget what I love and whom I love. The fear of becoming what I now despise, and the fear of remaining as I am. The fear of death. The fear of fading away as if you never were. The fear of those you will leave behind, and the fear of those who will leave you behind.

But because all I have come to know is war, I am afraid.

Every day, I am afraid anew.

If surrender were an option, I would have surrendered long ago. The truth is, I have lost my ability, not my desire, to remain here. I am sorry, my homeland !.