The song - his song, he thought - drifted out over the stereo speakers. He sat at the table, his head in his hands, his clear blue eyes looking down at the half-empty glass in front of him.
I reached out to touch his arm; he didn't move. I took a breath, feeling the pain he seemed to radiate. The music wrapped around us, suspending us in this moment.
I wanted to say the all the words that would make him smile, that would make him believe.
As he began to cry, all I could say was, "It's okay."
I only wish I could have made it better.
|
