It was all that you left me.

A small, unforgettable smile was all that you left me.
It was a melancholic crease, something that wails deep from within.
It was a weak smother of a smile
for I only saw sadness,
nothing more, nothing less.
I never tried asking.
Maybe there was not even sadness.
Maybe it was just one of those fleeting expressions of the meager kind.
And so I never thought it would haunt me relentless
the night after I received the news of your death.

The night after I received the news of your death,
my heart’s serpent is still slithering to catch its tail,
hissing and rattling in indignation and disbelief
as if a predator just muddled through its ferocious sheltered haven.
It wraps its prey tighter, as the vast intruder approaches, waits.
The fire went ablaze, and slowly it leaves. I sigh in relief.
But memories of you kept on returning.
Those transient episodes kept on rewinding.
We walked home together just two weeks before you forever left.

We walked home together just two weeks before you forever left.
You had a quiet disposition, but the silence you had then
Was more fervent than what I knew.
It was one of those silences that rings throughout
and it was such a shame that I never breathed a word
about the frequencies of silence that is so near, it’s deafening,
other than those petty chatters that I knew wouldn’t help.
But you never said you needed help, did you?

But you never said you needed help, did you?
You blanketed your secrets up until the very end.
It was only your shadow that we see those five rapid months.
Those five rapid months, your stomach is inflating.
And you magnificently veiled it so well, that
even your mother failed to fathom it all.
We wished you sent out subtle affirmations.

We wished you sent out subtle affirmations.
Or even better, a direct confession that could’ve changed it all.
It should be hard, it should be painful.
You must be thinking just that.
What would I do, if I were in your place?
Maybe I would succumb in fear, too.

Yes, maybe I would succumb in fear, too.
But it’s not the future of the child that I would fear.
It’s them— the people around, the naysayers.
Yesterday, I heard them again, chattering, pointing fingers.
Most of their fingers still point to you.

Most of their fingers still point to you.
And how I wanted to cut each of those fingers in half.
Does it really falls down to this?
Do we really have to know who’s to blame?

Who’s to blame? Who’s to blame?
Does it matter?
You’re already gone.

You’re already gone.
And a small, unforgettable smile was all that you left me.

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