Not interested in the media craze nor spectacle of people, the draw for me was from within.
Out the building I went. Cold today. A breeze too. Glad I wore my vest.
I should have some lunch before I go any further. Rebecca's Cafe. Some soup.
Found a seat at a small table with a partial view of Boylston Street. Outside, against a building, rested several pieces of crowd-control fencing/barricades left from the marathon. Other than that, people bustled by, going about their daily business (just a block form the marathon finish line). I became quite reflective and thought about how events like the marathon bombings and Sandy Hook shootings can be supplanted every so subtly.
I want to visit the memorial. I should go to the finish line also.
Four or five large media trucks lined Boylston Street at Copley Plaza (the site of the memorial). As I drew closer to the memorial site, my attention turned to the large number of items left there - flowers, hats, sneakers, notes, flags, shirts...
For the most part, the people moved about the memorial in silence. Many were taking pictures or videos. Everyone seemed to be reflecting.
I didn't think I'd become this emotional. As my eyes scanned the uncounted messages that had been written, tears started to form.
A hand-written message written by a child caught my eye. It read:
I'm so sorry.
So true, Emma. So true.