I stepped quickly back towards the door, just noticing the room’s single occupant. He stared back with red rimmed eyes. A tissue clutched in one hand.
I shouldn’t be here, in this place of mourning. He shouldn’t have to be disturbed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
“It’s okay he says, voice gruff with emotion, “ I was leaving anyway.”
He’s young, about my age. Face line with worry and fatigue.
I feel riveted to the spot, unable to leave or stay.
He stands up awkwardly and moves towards the door walking with feet of led.
I hold the door open as he passes. He nods as fresh tears run down his face, and I almost taste his sadness.
I want to speak, I want to reach out. But all I can do is stay.