Smile
Lisa Cuddy remembers how Kutner made her daughter smile.
Rachel wonders where you've gone.
There is something about the fragile innocence
of the baby in my arms.
I feel as if my blue eyes tell a lie,
as if I'm gazing at her in deceit,
because she doesn't know that you're gone.
Blissfully ignorant of your absence,
she plays in silence, wondering
where you've gone.
I know she misses you
because she doesn't smile as often
as she did when you were with her.
Maybe she didn't know your name,
but she knew you.
She knew your kindness, your trademark grin.
You used to make her laugh,
and her tiny hands would clap with delight
as you made a fool of yourself
just to see her smile.
You reminded me of House,
or at least, who he could have been
without the bitterness.
I think he could have been like you,
eccentric, eclectic Kutner.
I don't know where it all began
and you started dying
instead of living.