I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Sirens screamed and flashed all around me. The building in front of me was quickly crumbling to the ground, but not fast enough. People still jumped out of the windows, debris falling with them. Smoke engulfed the blue sky. I heard yelling but I couldn’t tell if it was coming from me. I felt myself being pushed forward and knew that I was running. I had to see him. I had to make sure he was okay.

As soon as I ran up to see the commotion, a firefighter held me back from stepping any further. He was telling me something and it seemed important but I didn’t care enough to listen. I pushed past the firefighters and ran to an ambulance, watching a man with dark hair get assisted. All I could see of him was that he had dark, shaggy hair that covered part of his forehead and he was wrapped in a white towel, stained with blood.

I stepped forward, reaching out to the man. He looked up, regarding me with distaste. I stepped back, shaking my head. This couldn’t be happening. Where was he? He couldn’t be dead. I would convince myself that he was alive. Of all the people jumping from windows and dying from crushed debris, he would be the one to make it out safely. He would be okay and he would be with me.

My dreams of meeting with my love again were soon stomped out when I came to a halting reality check. I was running and I stopped to look down at the collection of the dead. My eyes widened as I saw him there. He wasn’t moving; he wasn’t breathing. My knees gave out and I fell beside him, wanting so desperately to wake up now. I pinched myself until there were light bruises all up and down my arms. If I couldn’t wake up, then I wished he could. I shook him and screamed as him, going so far as to slap him. He gave no sign of disturbance and stayed completely, utterly still. I wept over him for hours, holding him close. When the ambulance finally wanted to take him away, I shouted at them until I was hoarse.

That is why, to do this day, September eleventh still haunts me.