• It's night, and in the dark outdoors the glow from my window can be seen. I am sitting here safely in my PJs writing in my journal. All is fine, here. Yet sobering terrors rise in this world. There are the tragedies that cast a solemn shadow on the human frivolities that we live to surround ourselves with. Those attacks that happened years ago today are an intersection between history: dates, names, memorization- and true life and emotion: loss, tears, desires, and that hope that flickers and pulses like a lantern light far off in a snowy and quiet night of grief. It's easy for someone to consider society as a mob of people who are pressed in the same mold and squeezed into identical boxes, but when they die- when they are gone, then we know that they were unique and real, that they all meant something to us and our world. And we know it was there because it's gone. Even if we never knew them, we can still cry for them and their irreplaceable niche among so many. With every death there was once life- an unique perspective, passion, and motivation. And so many were extinguished that day in a larger fire...

    And now, we humans still concern ourselves with the small happy things. We walk through colors of the hours, laughing with friends, making plans and treasuring our own ideas, while in another place, another time, so many were there and then were just gone... and each of them had lives just like ours.