Five Years

Tomorrow will be five years. So much has been said already, and so much will be said, that there really isn't much to say anymore. A part of me wishes that the TV wouldn't be filled with images and videos and tributes to what happened; the overpowering emotion that overtakes is just too much at times. And I was just an innocent bystander.

I'd really rather not relive the experience of that day, that night, that week of helpnessness and despair, and all those dreams. Those nightmares that haunted me, not just for a few months after, but years. And even after finally breaking free of the hold those dreams once had on me, there is still no escape from the feelings that crop up every once in a while, simply because life has so drastically changed, rendering it a permanent part of our lives.

I can imagine that it will be close to impossible to get through tomorrow without taking even slight notice and paying my respects. I can't ignore the newspaper that will be at my doorstep nor neglect the 3rd metro stop during my morning commute. It would probably be selfish of me to do so. So I'm quite sure a tear or two will be shed at some point in the morning, when the country will stop to pay tribute to all those people.

There's another part of me that wishes I could be back home tomorrow, in the city where I was born and raised, where I can glance upon the all-too familiar skyline I took for granted for 22 years. To sit in the place in Queens I saw it last, or even drive over one of the many bridges, right after sunset, and watch once again as the twin beams light the sky.

But, alas, tomorrow I will remember from afar. And as much as I try to escape it, I'll never forget it.