16. cried in the bread aisle again
This happens all the time. Crying in public. I remember crying on trains in all five boroughs. You always remember the tears that hit without warning. The faulty street lamp that puts a tune in your head. An inside joke only few will get. The insides are so old, it’s not even worth bringing up now. I have no idea the last time I spoke to that person. But I think of them. I think of you. My mind is always somewhere, usually else. In a pond of tears, it visits without invitation and comes back to me with cries in my hands.
It doesn’t bother me to cry in bread aisles, between bushes, behind sunglasses and amidst the disarray. I let my tears come as they please, they go the same way. I prefer to feel my feelings on time, when they arrive. I’ve found that’s how things stay in motion. Emotions don’t do well in still water. Now, there are times where paralysis accompanies my cry sessions. That’s when I grab my headphones and flail my limbs onto cotton sheets and swimming pools.
Most times, I’m in movement when I cry.
I also love crying while listening to sad songs. I think that’s how the artists intended they be listened to. Artists lessen their own emotions by placing the feelings elsewhere and hopefully, onto others. Because if you tear while listening to my story of crying then we’re brothers in sadness. Sisters in brooding.
For crying out loud, why can’t we all just let it out? The sourdough doesn’t have eyes or ears and the ones that do are too busy thinking about their own sadness to think about yours.
With tear stained cheeks,
M