Insufficient Tears.

For an hour I’ve sat here, trying to cry. My eyes fill up with hot, salty tears, but then I blink and they’re gone. If just one single drop would find the will to build up and spill over, I might feel almost human again.

It’s been two years since I’ve cried, and I fear I’ve forgotten how to do it. Not that I want to go back to the way things were before, when a day without tears was more remarkable than nearly anything else. But here I am, at the other extreme, wanting so much to let out the frustration, anger, melancholy, grief – and finding that I’m utterly unable.

Once upon a time I had a journal titled “Insufficient Tears.” I had meant it as a way to say that my tears, no matter how often they came, would never be enough to express my sorrows. Now I just mean that there aren’t enough tears.

Everybody needs a good cry now and again. I wish I remembered how.