The Truth of Tears
What can we say, when words run dry?
I'm not certain a person can still be said to feel anything at all if he's run out of tears. When grief abandons us to the mercies of the world, all other emotions follow soon after. Senseless though it may seem, sadness is the marijuana of emotions, the gateway drug of the heart and soul. We must cry to smile, cry to love, cry to hate, cry to mourn.
I would give anything to be able to cry.
I think, then, perhaps i would feel alive again.
But without those sacred tears to irrigate the parched soil of my spirit, I remain barren, and my life bears nothing of sustenance, nothing to keep me going, and slowly, life deserts me, as my soul withers, dries up, and tumbles away, leaving me with a wind swept, hollow countenance, scorched and scarred, as dead and stony as the bleakest deserts of the earth.
I would give anything to be able to cry.
I think that, perhaps, wouldn't feel so much like dying.
I'm not certain a person can still be said to feel anything at all if he's run out of tears. When grief abandons us to the mercies of the world, all other emotions follow soon after. Senseless though it may seem, sadness is the marijuana of emotions, the gateway drug of the heart and soul. We must cry to smile, cry to love, cry to hate, cry to mourn.
I would give anything to be able to cry.
I think, then, perhaps i would feel alive again.
But without those sacred tears to irrigate the parched soil of my spirit, I remain barren, and my life bears nothing of sustenance, nothing to keep me going, and slowly, life deserts me, as my soul withers, dries up, and tumbles away, leaving me with a wind swept, hollow countenance, scorched and scarred, as dead and stony as the bleakest deserts of the earth.
I would give anything to be able to cry.
I think that, perhaps, wouldn't feel so much like dying.