History of Sorts

731 Days of Darkness

It’s been 731 days—
two years of nights that never end.
The sun still rises,
but for too many, it doesn’t shine.

October 7—
a date carved into hearts,
a wound that doesn’t close.
The world moved on,
but the screams still echo
in homes that stand half-empty,
in chairs that stay untouched at the table.

Children still wake
to the sound of nothing—
and that nothing is the loudest thing of all.
Mothers still wait by the door,
fathers still check their phones
for messages that will never come.

731 days of candles lit,
of names whispered,
of prayers said in silence.
Two years of strength
that no one asked for,
of grief that won’t let go.

And yet—
somehow, they keep breathing.
They rebuild what was burned,
they love what was taken,
they carry the names forward
like torches in the wind.

731 days of darkness—
but still, they stand.
Still, they remember.
Still, they hope
for a dawn that finally stay

Puctures from Wikepedia