LOS ANGELES —
Two years of grief.
Two years of fear.
Two years of searching
For language that does not exist.
We light candles for the ones who never came home,
And for the ones who still wait in the dark.
We hold each other closer now,
In love, in protests, in prayer.
Our hearts are raw,
But they are still beating,
Still choosing life,
Still choosing each other.
This day is not a single wound.
It is a thousand voices whispering, remember.
And somehow, still, hope.
— Recustom website