When the men came back, they played music.
Horns blared and drums crashed, confetti streamed endlessly through the air, banners thronged the streets shouting their pride
The air was infectious with the dizzying joy of marshal triumph, chests swelled up, eyes leaked and mouths sung.
Among the flag-waving fervency of the crowds there was no time for mourners. The rest of time could be ascribed to those who hadn’t survived, the time now was celebration for those who did.
Soldiers and their women, rushing towards powerful embraces.
Those who invested their love, to receive no return, looked to starting anew.