It’s been two weeks now since the massacre but it seems like it’s been years. My brain has shut it out like a nightmare that never actually occurred. Our only reminder on campus that it did in fact happen are the candles that sit outside the Student Union burning each night in remembrance of the lives that were lost, a soft plush cat propped against the wall before it with a paper sign hanging on it with the words written, “free hugs” and the distant memory of that dreaded night that lingers behind our eyes. My thoughts had finally escaped the cage they were in for the first week but there is a part of me that wishes they had stayed there, raging in my head for eternity. To have them escape that cage feels like forgetting and I never want to forget. The memory is still heavily prominent on the strip and it truly showed as thousands of us marched through the city tonight to reclaim it from fear. On every billboard shone the words “Vegas Strong”, on others they had displayed the phrase, “When things get dark, Las Vegas still shines.” The walk was one of strength and love. While thousands of us marched, others stood in the sidelines, volunteering their time to hand out water to all of us. Throughout the entire walk we had a constant police presence to keep things moving smoothly and to keep all of us safe. Occasionally a shout or chant would rise from the crowd repping the words the billboards broadcast. As one massive swarm of people we made our way to the grounds that it all went down, looking over the fence at the land where they stood… looking out at the land where they fell. Up above, in it’s golden glory, stood the hotel with a banner hanging that preached the theme of the night. Massive white letters on a black landscape that spelled out the phrase that kept us walking. Vegas Strong. As we passed below it’s windows I could hear in my head the popping of the gun. I could feel the panic of those leaping the fence in desperation to escape. And I could see the eerie emptiness that was left behind. Candles were dispersed for a moment of silence once we passed Mandalay and people gathered together to stand a moment in each other’s embrace while the rest of us continued on, walking now to the crosses that line the Vegas sign. On the fence hang flags and banners to memorialize the fallen, 58 paper angels stick to the trunk of a palm tree, flowers and long melted candles blanket the ground in color, illuminated only by the flames of the new candles set out to replace the old and the sparkling sign that towers above them. There are two boulders along the way that have words written in black sharpie all over them and the wax of candles that no longer sit perched on the stone. Behind the sign stretches the line of crosses with the names of each victim scrawled onto them. Each cross is lavishly decorated in flowers, pictures and candles that people continue to light, topping each of them is a small American flag. It is a spectacle inexplicable by words. 58 is merely a number until you see these in the flesh, they stand lined up back to back for dozens of feet. You walk by each and a face, a name, a segment of space, becomes that number you thought you knew. It hits hard to see them lined up with Mandalay gleaming behind them. Each of them representing the loss of a life force from this earth. Each of them representing a family member who’s loved ones are grieving from afar. Each of them representing the prospect of death that was brought upon these people far too soon. I long for the day the candle stains have faded and the memory of this event has anchored itself in our hearts but has lifted from the ghost town this city has become. But above that I hope it is never forgotten. I hope that the memory of this prevents it from happening all over again, next time with more deaths.. deaths that could have been prevented. To all the past, current, and future victims, I am sorry. This should have never come to be.