The weak ones.

Don't cry. Do not cry. If they see me I will surely face their punishment.

They're watching. They are hidden but we all know they're watching.

As the curtain closes around my beloved daughters coffin, I hold my breath and bite my lip. I must not cry.

At home, in my own space and I still cannot cry. You're not weak. You can do it. You must not cry.

The light outside fades, and I almost believe that I am alone. I can feel it rising within me, my throat begins to tighten.

I can hold it in no longer, a long repressed sob escapes my lips. That was all it would take, they would be here soon. Now all I would know from here would be the darkness and isolation of the weak ones.

I am one of them now. Forever.