Every person holds a certain number of tears. I have not spent a single one of mine, not really. Until now. Only it is not how I imagined. My heart is not broken. No one has hurt me. I have not seen something particularly beautiful or better yet, particularly ugly and yet these tears fall without apology.
My mom says that this is good. That I am digging up past pains and pushing them outward. Except for when she tells me this I sigh, because sighing is easy, because you don't have to reach for anything at all, only let something go. And then I ask her to please turn off the light and when she does I roll over and let my etiquette taste my tears.
What troubles me most is that there is no equation to apply. I am not much for math but these days I am looking for a solution. A way to stop this faucet but I can't come to figure out how it started in the first place. They say if you bury something long enough it will come up unrecognizable. I imagine myself tossing skeletons over my shoulder but they have become so heavy now.
I try to work backwards, try to trap each of my tears and examine the stories inside them. But the words come out wrong side up and mispelled. I can only make out small phrases like, "the blue house" or "Sunrise church" or "Martin Luther King" but these are only pieces and I am too tired to solve puzzles when sighing is so easy.
I try to imagine my life as a quitter. How good it would feel to fall into black holes, to kiss the darkness and feel her kiss you back. At long last, to smash into what I'm most afraid of. I guess this is what people would call, "crazy" except for being crazy is the only thing that makes me feel sane, so, what then?
Every now and again we have to stop pretending. Maybe that's what all this crying is about. Life is laced with breakdowns. Tiny inexplicable reminders of the great mystery that surrounds us. A scratch in the record, a naked face. I revel in this breakdown as the truest moment of my life. But I want to climb out of it all the same.