We had never really talked.

That’s just how it is in cubicle hell. I’ve never been at ease living like a ghost, but seeing how the winds blew, I reluctantly assumed that disposition. Until December 17th, an anniversary for a day that had became ghostlike.

Never more than a mutual knowledge of names and coffee station talk, but today the thing roaming my mind had been let out to play.

“Carrying something heavy inside aren’t you?”

Shock. Retreat quickly. But I didn’t. Undiluted empathy in his eyes that could never be disguised as mere sympathy.

My tale of woe came to my lips unbidden at first but before long it rushed out like a centurion with urgent and adamant orders. Story shared, he nodded purposefully before pulling his collar aside to reveal a pronounced scar.

“This is my memento. I lost two of my own. I caused it. I watched it happen.”

Scars. Internal. External. No difference. We face ourselves daily and only we know.

But after today, we know another that shudders at the thought.