It was spring 2003 and cold.
I remember how Amy cried while she wrote a note on the makeshift construction wall above Ground Zero.
I remember how others stopped quietly at the wall, tilting their heads to read, some adding their own notes.
I remember the signs, candles and flowers along the metal fencing.
I remember watching the construction crews work below in the footprint pits where thousands perished.
I remember children watching along with me.
I remember Amy reading the wall, placing her palm on it as if feeling for a heartbeat.
I remember the shadow ash that laced the buildings facing the emptiness within.
I remember how blue the sky was, just as it was a year and a half earlier.
I remember someone praying next to me, how it made me cry.
I remember when we left, we didn't speak.
I remember we held hands.
I remember hope.