Nice people made the best Nazis. My mom grew up next to them. They got along, refused to make waves, looked the other way when things got ugly and focused on happier things than ‘politics.' They were lovely people who turned their heads as their neighbors were dragged away. You know who weren’t nice people? Resisters.
Fissures happen. The're painful. And sometimes they seem like canyons rather tan cracks. Sometimes you can't fix them. But sometimes you can. And sometimes they'll fix themselves, and you aren't always meant to be the only bit of glue holdig everyting.