To tell you the truth // I cry a lot.
My therapist lets me know again+again that I’m more emotional than most people and before she can hint at change, I wave with pageant-like energy and proclaim that it’s something I’m proud of. That it’s part of the sonnets that make up my soul, the dialogue that people use to talk about me behind my back, the revolution behind my most creative thoughts.
And I cry whenever I say I love you, as if it was the last time I could, and whenever I hear a human tell a story that is hard for them to admit, and when I find myself walking city blocks and rejoicing in the fact that I know where I am and who I am, and when I think about the mighty friendships that disappeared at the end of my twenties, and when I enter a period of feeling bad for myself for all the @!$ I’ve had to deal with in my life, and just because, for no reason, quite often, in public, into my pillow, because of the strong neuronal connection between the lacrimal gland (tear duct) and the areas of my human brain.
The internet tells you crying is your body’s way of letting you know there’s something to address. I think it’s our way of proving to ourselves just how alive and strong and delicate we are, with a vertical string of water pushing out of your eyes.
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