"I'm sorry."
How many times did he say that?
His face was stoic.
Tanned.
Smooth.
Pockmarked.
He was dressed formally.
White button down shirt.
Red tie.
Black suit jacket.
Black pants.
White socks.
Leather shoes.
No one responded to him.
Not that they usually did.
He fiddled with a fedora as he stood there.
"Sorry."
If no one ever heard him, did he ever speak?
"Hey, how did you know them?"
The others mourned too, grieved for the departed.
His eyes rested their gaze on the corpse.
With every blink he could see that face, smiling.
It laughed, it spoke, it thanked him so many times.
A lady collapsed nearby, others rushed to her aid.
He did too, offering his forearm as support for her to grab.
Her weeping hurt.
He wished he could weep as well.
He wished he could slam his hands on the ground, shout expletives with all his might.
He twitched, unnoticed by everyone else.
It didn't matter, drawing attention in such a matter would only make things worse.
He didn't think of why it would be worse if they noticed him.
"Thank you."
He nodded to the lady, she sniffled, dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
He returned his gaze to that face.
Was it painful?
Images formed in his mind, in a way that was unstoppable.
The pain, the agony, the fear of death in the final moments.
The feelings around the room synchronized with that pain.
It was getting, tiresome to stand.
He led the lady to a nearby bench, with her friends.
She needed to rest.
Standing in such an environment will be tiresome.
!bzzz
His phone vibrated.
Through his pocket he held the power button.
He pulled it out a little bit and swiped the screen.
Now was not the time for it to function.
The speeches, the cries, the rain.
He wished they would never end.
He stared at that face again.
So peaceful.
Resting there open to the air.
He wanted to sigh.
To sit and let himself go.
To finally let his waning balance rest itself.
His dizziness was combatted only by sheer will.
He knew, he dreaded, that he would be soon to speak.
That they would hear his words.
This wasn't his forte.
Everyone knew that.
Yet at the same time, they said of all the people present, he was the one they all wanted to speak.
His fedora folded in his hands.
The floor spun slowly.
Yet he still stood, tall, a pillar of indifference.
He looked down.
He could not bear to see that face.
He could not bear to present himself, to these cherished people.
To these mourning companions.
To show himself, to show his stoicness, his indifference.
That would make them hurt more.
And yet to show that he was hurt too, it would be selfish.
He grabbed a water bottle off the bench, quenching his thirst.
Many people wished to speak today.
To celebrate the life that was had.
To commemorate the unforgettable times, the mistakes, the craziest moments of life.
To mourn, to regret, to cry.
His ears had long been muffled.
His voice long stifled.
The light from the stained glass cast its glow throughout the venue.
Another glance at the face.
This one filled with hate.
That there was a will, that so many people had to be here. That it was to be rushed even.
He looked around, holding onto his head.
That these people were gathered from around the globe on such short notice.
He hated it.
The podium was empty, the next speaker to be called was present.
"###"
His name was heard, and he walked up to the podium.
He looked around, barely registering the faces, barely remembering names.
Hell, he turned to the coffin. He could hardly remember his name.
So he spoke.
"I'm sorry, that it came down to this."
His voice catching in his throat.
"Just days ago he laughed with us."
"He walked with us."
"He ate with us."
"He played with us."
He took a deep breath, continuing his speech.
"Together we loved, now we mourn, now we cry."
A single tear found its way out his eye.
Oh how he wished he could let more out.
"I cry now because, I see the treasure that he grasps still in his hands."
"I see the gifts he held closest to his heart."
"And I see the gifts that he held onto without knowing."
It was hard to finish speaking.
"I see us, I see you all. I see that even years from now, even years before, he cherished that these gifts existed."
"That in those moments, that in these moments, he was there to share with us."
He needed to finish this up, else he collapse then and there.
"He cherished us, more than he could ever cherish himself. Wherever he may be going, he will hold this love deep within him."
"So stay not on this day, not on this night. Cherish him, in your memories, in your heart. So that even for a moment, he will forever live on."
"Thank you."
He stepped down from the podium.
His steps were heavy.
Once more, he wished to look at that resting face.
What had been plagued internally by demons had been reduced to this.
This calmness, serenity.
The long rest for the weary.
He stood over the casket, his hands were pale, as if he had lost all his strength.
He kneeled, by the side of the casket he could no longer hold himself steady.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Mutters left his mouth.
Tears dripped from his eyes.
"Please, don't let this be, not this way."
"It's too late."
"No, we can fix this."
"They're hurt."
He tried, in the final vestiges of his strength he lifted himself to look at that face once more.
His own face.
"Why? Why couldn't I have lasted longer!"
He cried at himself.
"They're hurt! It's my fault! Why can't I undo this!"
They held onto various memorabilia.
Sketchbooks, journals, photos, sports equipment.
Testaments to his efforts.
At his head they passed him.
They put down those beautiful things, their eyes filled with tears.
Then, an elderly couple walked up.
His parents.
"No no no No NO!"
He was suffering.
They could see the results of that, and that means.
They wept, their gaits unsteady, their arms supported by others.
In their hands they held one thing.
A blanket, old, clean, still caught with the smell he called home.
This, they didn't put at the altar, they opened the casket a little further, showing his wrists.
They draped the blanket over him.
His face seemed to ease a little in their eyes.
His heart was shredded, his throat was blocked.
"I'm sorry."
He cried.
For this moment in time, for this final time that he could be beside them.
He wept, crying in the fragrance of home.