The Rows Remember

They do not march now, but they still stand-- shoulder to shoulder in quiet granite lines. Each flag breathes like a memory fluttering in the hush between heartbeats. They are not just names, not just dates-- they are echoes of last letters, mud-heavy boots, songs sung beneath a foreign sky. We walk between them, heads bowed, and feel the weight of freedom we never had to earn. This silence is not empty. It is full-- with sacrifice, with honor, with a debt we can only repay in remembrance.