Forgetting the Ashes

NOTE: Written by Jerrice in our Friday, 40-minute, Flow-State Writing Session on September 12, 2025

Crumbling towers flashed in front of me. They became
fine sand. The air was thick with ashes, in shades of grey.
For months, the first responders choked with dust. I heard
the faint voices of my dear friends. They never vanished.
I climbed my bed of sorrow.

Hundreds of faces captured with smiles, taped on walls. I
returned home each day after searching for my kin. The
news replayed the collapsing of towers and bodies. Since
then, September tastes like ashes, like dried up blood.

I sob, smoke in grief.
I had kissed you in fresh air.
Now, tasting ground zero.

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