It's like the fires never went out. Even after the towers fell, after September passed, after 13 years. The fire still burns. Helplessly I gazed at the north tower and at the doomed face of a man above the flames. He was in a chef's coat and was hanging out a window and was trying to do what we were all trying to do...escape. I was on the outside looking in, yet I could not escape the horror. That man would not escape with his life. I feel as if I have just haunted New York City ever since. A restless spirit unable to comprehend or reconcile the massive heartbreak.
Good came out of the rubble, out of the search and rescue of victims, out of the determination to fight back and win against tyranny, out of rebuilding. Though I know in my very small way I play an even smaller part in all that, yet, I still feel invisible. Stranded in a past that never existed. A place where lives were all saved and ruin prevented. Haunting the plaza where that brass globe sat between the two towers. Mesmerized by views from that observation deck. Feeling the thrill of those fast elevators to Windows on the World. Being with the people who never saw September 12th 2001.
It takes a lot of energy to keep my emotions in check. I want throw myself back into life with a vengeance but then I think...what the heck. I go forward anyway, haunting the city by night, sleeping by day. Responding to the fires after they are out. Searching for meaning. Helping where I can help. Giving where I can give. Wondering if the joy of pleasure will ever be mine again.
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