My shame
On the television, they show Spaniards going back into Madrid train stations, twenty four hours after the massacres. Many are in tears, all are somber. Life goes on, don’t we know it. They interview some women of different ages, who express their pain, their fear, their outrage, their bewilderment. I should be moved. I should feel their pain. I should cry in empathy. But I am cold. I am bitter. The loneliness of the guilty victim has made me hard.

And when I realize that, I feel the pain, and the tears come.