Every day I sit on the floor, in a corner, and I look at this place where I have been living for the past 10 years.
I look at the walls I painted.
I look at the family room and the mosaic of our lives.
Pictures. Bookshelves. Art. Toys. Glasses.
Here my son trembled in shyness because he was in love.
Here my son measured how tall he was.
Here I hugged them both and we fell asleep.
In that chair we sat almost on top of each other.
Watching a silly movie.
My husband whispers something in my ear, it's echo resonates and glues us together.
I sit in my corner and I imagine everything ...
All buried under the rubble.
I imagine searching frantically for my children
Hearing a scream or a cry or 'mama'
I imagine my fingers bleeding but I can't dig them out.
I imagine my husband's body lifeless.
And I feel guilty to be grateful that this is not happening to me
And I am devastated that this is happening everyday now in Gaza