I was 3,000 miles away when it happened. So I can't truly understand how my fellow New Yorkers felt, can I?

My friends tell me how they're constantly nervous, anxious, and depressed to the point of crying. They tell me of the languishing dust and stagnant smell of the dead. They tell me about the relentless rumors of bomb scares and (unfortunately now somewhat justified) bioterrorist attacks.

They tell me all that, and how am I to really understand all the way here in California?

I can sympathize. I can weep. I can try to imagine myself in their situation.

But despite all that, I can't truly understand. I wasn't there. My heart feels almost numb to some of these stories. Numb and distant.

I don't know how to really explain it. I don't even know if this makes any sense.

I told some friends that I wanted to see what's left of the WTC, just to "touch base." It's been almost two years since I moved from New York, and almost a year since I've been back. All of this distance seems to have removed the feelings from my heart.

Then I came across Jonathan Corum's photos of the disaster.

And holy shit, I… I…

I just had to stop what I was doing to take a pause and hold myself from falling apart.

His site is one of the most thoughtful personal accounts of this disaster I've seen. The photography is beautiful and startling. He starts with photos of the WTC, pre-disaster. Then he narrates through a collection of thirteen days worth of photos.

It was the photo of Ray's Pizza in Greenwich Village that first began to tear at my heart. Like a pin jab to test whether I am really numb or not.

I used to eat at this place. Ray's Pizza is, in my New York Centric Viewpoint, makes one of the best pizzas in America. Plastered all over the walls are photos of missing persons.

The next few days show more photos of missing persons, the military, people holding American flags, and the remains of the WTC.

I didn't see many of these kinds of candid, day-to-day images on the media. Maybe I just missed them.

I went to school right around Union Square. There's a photo of a mound of flowers, candles, flags, notes, and other assorted objects under the statue of George Washington. It's a memorial created by the people of NYC for the people of NYC.

Shit, my hands are shaking as I write this.

There are pictures of the attack drawn by kids who are too young to understand the politics behind this senseless violence. And apparently a new statue was unveiled at the Square—a statue of a fireman, kneeling in grief or smoke, or both, as Jonathan puts it.

On day ten he shows us the Armory, which looks to have become a center for missing persons. There are so many faces, so many people.

Finally, he ends with a collection of very personal and thoughtful comments sent to him by other viewers. There's no way I'd be able to read them all without a beer in my hand.

It's finally sinking in. I'm finally letting my heart feel it. I'm finally coming closer to understanding.

. . .

Were you there on 9/11?