So, I don't cry. Not easily at least. Usually I go months without crying. Not for lack of wanting or trying. There are so many things that make me /want/ to cry, too many to list here, but chief among them the hopelessness of my own life. I have spent nights with my face buried in a pillow, shouting into it, "Cry, damn you," but I just can't seem to. The only things that really make me cry are happy things, like when a partner does something that makes joy bloom in my heart. This is pretty rare, I can go days without even smiling.
Crying is an emotional release, one I desperately wish I had more access to. I'm sullenly envious of the girls who say they cried all day. I wish I could do that, to release this heavy burden on my heart. I can't, though. My face remains slack and my eyes remain dry. I can't cry. I can tell you what makes me hurt, but I can't tell my face that.
Maybe it's the childhood of isolation, maybe it's all the time I spent denying my own feelings, but whatever it is, my ability to cry is broken. Even writing this, I want to cry, but it brings me no tears. I remain stolid, stoic, seemingly-unfeeling. I am so jealous of your tears. So don't curse them, hold them to be something sacred. Because they are. You can feel and you can cry and that, to me, is a wonder. If you can cry, cry for me. Thank you.
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