I tried to reach out, but there’s only a sense of longing. Unannounced, teardrops trickled down. Years upon years of holding it in. I thought I was happy. I believed I was happy. Until my eyes tell a different story, one of anger and pain hidden in some dark corner where nobody goes.

Should I hold back the tears? I ought to be ashamed. I must behave myself in the hardest hours of grief. Can I defeat darkness by running from it? Or pretending — just pretend, but never give in.

The tears begged to be released. They represent words too difficult to utter and too heavy for the heart to bear.

Drop the disguise! Let it fall, let it find freedom. Let it rain down upon the earth and water the seeds of future happiness. Weep, as if tears are cleansing.

Weep, as if the eyes need to empty themselves. It’s easier to shed those heavy droplets than to have to explain because words are never enough to bear the weight of sorrow. It won’t be adequate to wash away the fears.

No, I won’t cry. I’ll be fine. I’ll breathe in deeply and push it all down into my chest until there’s nothing left visible on the surface. No one should see them, for they are mine, exclusively. I’ll force a smile, even if it hurts. I’ll forget what I thought or how I feel.