I wish I could write something inspiring and eloquent about what happened yesterday at the Boston Marathon.

I can’t.

I’ve been watching and reading the news all day, but finally had to stop. The blood-splattered concrete and torn limbs were too much. I know I’ve only been in Boston for two years, but I feel like my home has been attacked. I’ve walked down Boylston so many times. Only last year, I was right at the finish line, cheering on the runners with everyone else. My friends were thinking of spectating this year, but didn’t go. We were lucky. Not everyone was.

My heart goes out to everyone affected by the bombing. The injured. The deceased. Their families. The witnesses, crowds, and runners. The brave first responders, volunteers, and their families. I know that they’ll be in my thoughts tonight, and for many, many nights to come.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from my time here, it’s that Boston is a stubborn city. We’ll help each other through this, and come out as strong and resilient as ever.

Thank you to those who messaged me, asking if my friends and I were safe! I was at work at the time, far away from Copley Square and the bombs.