What happens when we lose the will to fight? What happens when the yelling gets caught on tears at the back of our throats? Do they wither and slip out of us or do they create cracks and fissures in all the bonds that keep our feet planted on the ground, make our hands unafraid to grasp the clammy warmth of someone else’s hand, someone who was once a stranger but who is one no longer?

We become shriveled people, infants again.