As the pastor asks them to bow their heads silently
I try to fight the urge to cry by imprisoning the tears in my eyes
After some time, when I am highly convinced that I am fine
All the memories return, and an unexpected tear escapes my eye
I quickly wipe it, but one more comes running out and another…
I soon lose count of the tears marching furiously down my cheeks
Seconds, minutes and hours
and yet, the wound is still fresh
it is only when I feel a drop of water touching my skin
I wonder, is she crying too?
Did her tears cause this heavy rain?
Does she want me to be sad that she’s gone,
Or rather happy that the pain that she had felt had faded?
The longest and hardest time,
The moment of silence