You had the brightest smile, that is the most significant thing I can remember about you. You used to laugh at every dumb thing, and I couldn’t help but laugh along.
When you began to go to school, that joyous look was gradually replaced with a tightly locked lip, adorned with a woeful gaze. I don’t want the world to wrong you in any way, I did everything to try to understand what is going on, but I shouldn’t have pushed too far.
I never meant to say those things on the day you walked out of this door, I guess I was fed up from the frustration of not connecting with you all these years, my own son. I wish I can go back in time and slap myself senseless, so it may numb my pain when they found you under the bridge.
It was weeks, maybe months later, when I saw Peter on the doorstep. Don’t be mad at him, but he told me. It is the only way he can cope. He brought with him a boxful of letters, with your sluggish handwriting, recounting with such rawness, what has been so obvious all along. Peter had his first cry in months, sitting in your room, sobbing uncontrollably. And my tears welled up into a busted dam.
I am so sorry that I have brought you into an unjust world, where people including me, couldn’t live in peace and must deny each other their truest selves. I love every part of you, how could you possibly doubt that?
Peter gave me a gift as he left, a photograph he told me is your favourite. It is you two, at your favourite beach that I used to take you all the time, leaning against the sunset,
And you have the brightest smile.