He believed because he wanted to believe. And that, too, is madness. - Michael F. Flynn

The stories I have to tell are not for the ears of youngsters. What were the stories, really? A crowd of men charged from the trench. Later, some of them came back. What more was there to say? Once, a long time ago, war had been glamorous, with pageantry and uniforms to shame a peacock. Now it was only necessary, and the uniforms were the color of mud.

This was an omen for sure, but one with no obvious meaning.

If people don’t leave a hole in your life when they are gone, Consuela, they were never in your life at all.