The magnitude of it all could not ever leave the haunted, overgrown earth. It's in the stones underfoot, on stained walls, and in the growth rings of the moss-covered poplar trees. They never made it out of here.
We make a solemn pilgrimage to spectate and take pictures, and then we get to go back home. We quietly go about the rest of our lives. I try to make sense of it, but I cannot. I listen to casual and friendly chatter from tourists on a heated bus back through Dachau.