Checkmate

I think we were too quick to judge him; it was as if we were waiting to pounce on him. Yes, what he had done was objectionable, but then that was it; simply objectionable. We judged him way too much, and that’s the thing about judging; there’s a thin line in judging a person, and which side one should be on is something I can’t say with certainty. I saw him leave that day, hurriedly, escaping our glances, putting up a poor show of face saving he ran. I am never going to see him again. He could have wept alone. Was it really something he could avoid? Was it something he could really be held responsible for? Alone, yes, that’s what he must have felt. All those glances on him. Alone, yes, terribly alone. And yes, we judged him a little too harsh for what he deserved. But where does one draw the line between judging and letting go? And how does one be sure of it? Probably that bit of unpredictability is the nature of things. Probably that's the bit they call life. Grey.