And while the city wept, I silently walked the streets, camera in hand.
Barricades were everywhere.
Somtimes a cop would send me back, but I'd walk around the next block and managed to sneak by the barricades, unnoticed by the police, who were often distracted by other weeping men and women or even sometimes cried themselves.
The day after,there was silence.
Sometimes there was a woman or a man crying.
Sometimes someone would just sit quietly and stare into nothingness ;in disbelief of the sudden nonexistance of the towers.
I haven't looked at these photos since I picked them up from the photo lab 5 years ago.
I never scanned or printed them either, until today.
These aren't photos of the burning towers.
Neither did I photograph the running crowds, barely escaping a certain death.
These photos aren't sensational, but these were my random , personal moments while I walked through the silent city.
And maybe I don't cry anymore today, 5 years later.
But something inside me died that day, and I will never get it back ; the love for a city and its people that I left my home and my family for in hopes of a bigger and brighter future.
On that day, everything that I hoped for, was buried in the burning rubble.
Now that 5 years have passed and hear people say how "time heals all wounds", I am not so sure about that anymore.







