Noor taking a selfie. Photo: Sara Serria

How can I remake a life?
I have never done this before,
and I need you to hold me
so I don’t fall apart.

Maybe the fear of living without you makes no sense.
After all, I’ve survived.
I try to scrub your absence from my skin,
but you were the sunlight, noor.

I was afraid to enter the sea with my whole body!
I held myself back.
Now, I scrub my skin,
wash the war from my hands again.

You live in a soft, golden memory.
You used to tell me
how much it hurt to lose your father,
your grandfather.
Now I know that pain
because I’ve lost you.

I miss hearing your life inside mine.
I miss normal days—
the light on our faces,
the smell of cinnamon,
our outings to celebrate Eid,
those visits to our friend Woroud…
and I so dearly miss your dimples.

You invited us to the sea.
I bled on your towel—
we smiled anyway.
You kissed my face goodbye.

I wash your towel.
I wash the dirt off my body.
I keep scrubbing.

Noor, every morning I remember
that you were killed in the war—
a martyr,
and I am still here,
learning how to live
without you.