Unfinished Days

The city didn’t disappear overnight. It faded. Slowly. Like a photograph left in the sun. First the laughter got quieter. Then the streets got emptier. Then the sky learned a new language. A child who once counted stars now counts seconds between sirens. He doesn’t ask why anymore. Only how far? Only how long? Only are we safe yet? Somewhere, a childhood stopped breathing. Somewhere, tomorrow never arrived. Somewhere, a life was cut mid-sentence… and the world kept talking. There is a room still waiting. A bed still warm. Shoes still by the door. The milk on the table turned cold without anyone noticing. The toy on the floor stayed brave. It kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting. No one told it the game was over. Somewhere, a childhood stopped breathing. Somewhere, tomorrow never arrived. Somewhere, a life was cut mid-sentence… and the world kept talking. On the news, they say numbers. Numbers don’t cry. Numbers don’t have favorite songs. Numbers don’t call their mothers at night. Numbers don’t leave empty chairs at dinner tables. But people do. The sky still lights up at night… but nobody makes wishes anymore. Somewhere, a childhood stopped breathing. Somewhere, tomorrow never arrived. Somewhere, a life was cut mid-sentence… …and the world kept talking.