[post] They count the tanks, they count the shells, they count the dead...

They count the tanks, they count the shells, they count the dead like sacks at a grain office. What they don’t count is the son who doesn’t call for three years because he’s ashamed he ran. They don’t count the widow who burns her husband’s coat because she can’t stand the smell of the rain in it. A war doesn’t end when the guns stop — it ends when the last person stops flinching at loud noises. And that day never comes. I know. I still wake up when a train goes by too fast.