I tried to stay silent on the anniversary of the terrorist attack on America this past September 11. I stayed away from the news. Each little bit of media that seeped in felt like vinegar to the scraped flesh barely grown back over an old wound. The feelings never died, but are compartmentalized like the loss of a loved one. They faded, faded, faded, until the harsh light of recollection brought them into sharp focus. What was it all for? Why did this happen? What happens now? And a year later, I have no answers and expect none from any source. It was too big. Despite the rise in resolve that bloomed forth from the waste of that day, America still has no idea why. We chase phantoms, and our leaders distract us with tough talk and colorful warning charts. The world has changed, they tell us, as if we couldn’t grasp that already. But they hide from the truth of the situation, because they’d have to admit that they’re not too sure what happened either. They want to call it

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