Significance. That’s the thing, I guess. As aggravating as it is, things are sometimes just what they are. A road diverged in the woods is just a road. Whether it’s been trampled down or not. Sometimes, though, it isn’t just about being. Sometimes things MEAN something. The day the goons showed up for our formula, I had just poured coffee for Linda and me. When they busted in the door and came in blasting, I left those mugs steaming on the counter and ran into the lab. From there, the day just rolled downhill through bullets and fire and swamp water and loss and THIS, whatever it is. I still dream about holding a warm mug between my hands on Saturday mornings. Still know what it meant to share that feeling with Linda. More than those kinds of memories, though, I know I could circle back to our burned out lab on the other end of this swamp and see those mugs sitting right there on the counter. It does not even matter what’s left in them. If it’s anything at all.