On Weeping

When the battle was over, they were all a mess, coated from head to shoes with gunk. They held hands and ran in a big line into the river to wash off. Thy came out, changed, and had their final campfire. Harold had brought no booze on the trip, and retired late that night to his tent sober and happy. Hey lay in his sleeping bag, feeling exhausted and lucky. It's interesting how fast a mood can change. In an instant something turned on him. Suddenly, he felt like weeping.  

He had never cried in his entire adult life, except occasionally in the dark at the end of a sad movie. And he didn't actually cry this time. He felt tremors in his gut. He felt a pressure at the back of his eyes. But nothing actually came out. Instead, he had this weird sensation of imagining himself crying. He was floating above and got glimpse of himself in a crouch heaving with sobs in his sleeping bag. 

And then it passed. He thought about the life he had constructed and the life he would have constructed, if he had been a little more open and possessed a little more emotional courage. Eventually, he fell asleep.