24.Why Couldn’t I Die?

I walked through fire, didn't I?

The ground crumbled beneath my feet,

and the sky broke apart like glass,

yet I stood, I breathed,

while the world turned to ash around me.

How did I survive? Why couldn't I fall

with the others, whose names echo in the dust?

The bullets didn't see me,

or maybe they did, but passed right through,

as if I were less than air,

as if my body was meant to endure,

to stand in the shadow of death,

but never cross into its cold embrace.

I ran with the weight of a thousand lives,

carried their screams in my chest,

but the ground didn't open for me—

it swallowed others, didn't it?

It claimed them, pulled them under,

while I, I stayed above,

a ghost in a field of bones.

Why couldn't I fall?

Was my blood not red enough,

my breath not shallow enough

to be taken by the earth?

I stood where the fire burned brightest,

but the flames licked my skin

and left no mark.

The air was thick with smoke and silence,

and the silence hummed louder than the guns.

I waited for it to call my name,

but it never did. It called others,

called them down into the dark,

and I watched as they fell,

watched as they disappeared

into a place I couldn't follow.

The sky broke, didn't it?

It shattered with the weight of war,

but still, I stood, untouched by the ruin,

wondering why death had forgotten me.

Did I not run fast enough,

did I not bleed deep enough

for the earth to take me back?

I saw the ground open beneath my feet,

felt the air shiver with the sound of bones,

but I kept walking,

stepping over shadows that once had names,

shadows that whispered as I passed—

why you, why are you still here?

I don't know.

I don't know why I survived,

why my heart keeps beating

in a body that feels too heavy

with the weight of unanswered questions.

I should have been among the fallen,

should have been carried by the wind

to a place where the light no longer burns.

The bombs fell, didn't they?

They split the air with thunder and steel,

but they left me standing in the ruins,

a body that refused to fall,

a soul that refused to leave.

The faces of the dead haunt my dreams—

they ask me why, why did I stay?

Why could I not close my eyes

and let the dark come?

The silence wraps around me like a second skin,

but I am not silent—I am still here,

still breathing in a world that no longer fits.

Is this survival?

To walk through a war and still be standing,

to carry the weight of those who fell

while I, I remain, untouched by their fate?

The ground beneath me holds their names,

but it won't take mine,

not yet, not today.

The sun rises, doesn't it?

It rises over the broken fields,

and I walk through the light like a shadow,

a ghost among the living,

wondering why death passed me by.

Was I forgotten? Was I spared?

Or was this survival nothing but a curse?

I walk, but my feet are heavy

with the steps I didn't take,

with the weight of those who never stood again.

I carry them in my bones,

in the hollow places where my soul should be.

I am alive, but the life I have

is too quiet, too still,

like a breath held too long.

The war ended, didn't it?

But the battles rage inside me,

a constant hum of fire and silence,

and I wonder if I'll ever know peace.

Why couldn't I die?

Why did the bullets pass me by,

leaving me with the weight of the dead?

I should have fallen,

should have joined them in the quiet dark,

but here I am, standing still,

wondering why death never touched me.

Was it mercy or madness

that kept me alive when the world fell apart?

I don't know.

I don't know why I survived.

I walk through the ashes,

through the bones of the forgotten,

and I wonder if I'll ever find the answer,

if I'll ever know

why I was left behind

in a world that no longer feels like mine.