This morning, on the train ride in to work… I recognized the guy standing next to me. Didn’t remember his name at all, but I remember being introduced to him the night that I met Alicia – earlier this year.

For a brief moment, I debated saying something to him. But, ultimately, decided against it. After all, what could I say? Hey, I’m this total stranger and I’m really sorry about Alicia?

I didn’t feel right. I felt like I would be intruding somehow. Still, a big part of me wanted to say something, like – “Hey, I barely got to meet Alicia. But she seemed like an amazing person, for how briefly I knew her. I’m really sorry she’s gone.”

I saw him look my way a few times, I think. I’m not sure if he recognized me as well, or if he was waiting for me to say something. But it just didn’t seem like my place to say anything. I felt sad. I felt like an outsider. I didn’t want to surprise this stranger. I didn’t want to force this man’s grief into his hands, riding the train into downtown Chicago.

I spent the remainder of the trainride looking away.

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