The smoke will one day disappear. The flames will surrender to the wind. The broken streets may be rebuilt, and new walls may rise where the old ones once stood.

But memory does not burn.

It lives in the silence that follows every explosion, in the empty chairs around dinner tables, in the toys left waiting for hands that will never return, and in the eyes of those who survived carrying more grief than words could ever hold.

The world may move on.

New headlines will replace old ones. People will scroll, pause for a moment, and continue with their lives.

But Gaza remembers.