the threads in her head

His _ got universal recognition.

I was there as he went up onto stage, gazing intently as he made his speech in his signature mocking tone. I don't know if he was really proud, but I imagined as he went on in his speech, so did his pride slowly unfold. Never fully obvious, just in between the lines.

I'm glad he's proud. I'm glad he has this moment of glory. Though I am not part of it, though I can't share it with him, it is enough to just bask in the glow of this moment. It seems right.

Though life is not a matter of trade-offs, I do wish that somehow, this moment, could alleviate at least a little, the various regrets of his life. That it would become the fond memory he could turn to, when he needs assurance.

I've seen how the ghost of regret haunted his face so, made it hard and sharp, silent and cold. I've seen how rage boiled up in him, and the coolness with which he launched his fiery words. I've seen him understanding, sympathetic. I've seen him put on a fake smile. I've seen him tried to smile.

Today, I think to myself, I've seen him really smile.

And there I leave him, slipping away quietly.