I realized I was avoiding the radio, the news update page, and then, I realized why.
It feels like there will never be, I realized, a year, a day, a time, when today is not like the memory of a bad dream, when the date doesn’t bring an internal cringe. Americans, perhaps we don’t memorialize well. We’re ashamed, maybe, of the vulnerability it takes. We maunder into sentiment, and edge back, repulsed, afraid.
But, truer words, once, were spoken. Lest we forget, here they are, to remember: The 110 Stories, one for each floor, retold.