They say I have her smile, but I only remember the grimace when she realizes my stupidity. They say I have her eyes, but I only remember the disappointment when she recognizes my insignificance. They say I have her hair, but I only remember the synthetic wig I found in her bedroom after her funeral.
I stayed in that room for months. No tears. No words. No bed. They took away all the furnitures, superstitious that she'd haunt this place and not pass on to the next life. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. But I stayed just in case. Lying on that cold bamboo floor, holding on to...
I honestly don't even know what...
