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Broken Tears MAG
Ikeep my tearsin a big oak chest in my attic, and it took a rainy day before I was able to goup and look through them.
Yes, there it is, the big oak chest.
It holds so much pain, so many memories, so many unforgettable yet forgottentimes. You know the ones I mean ... the times that hurt so much you forget aboutthem until a trigger word or object floods you with the raw emotions oncefelt.
It is difficult to move my hands to the lock and open the chest, butwhen I do, the motion feels faintly familiar, as though I've done it many timesbefore. Deep in my heart, I know that this is true. As much as these tears hurt,I can't get rid of them ... it's almost as if they are a part of me, part of whoI am, part of who I do and do not want to be.
I open the lid.
Yes,there they are - the same as always.
Sparkling, beautiful tears, eachlabeled with a memory.
The pain I felt when my boyfriend dumped me.
The "F" on my report card after I worked so hard.
Thenever-ending battles with my parents.
Simple things. Tears of unnecessarycrying but that still hold the hurt and pain.
I have come to anothersection of the trunk now, a section of unshed tears. The drytears.
They're the tears that come after you cry, and cry, but have nomore tears left, and yet you still can't accept that what happened has actuallytaken place.
The feeling of being alone andscared.
Confusion, not knowing which way to go, or which way iscorrect.
Some are afraid of meeting new people, butisn't it harder to say good-bye than hello? I would much rather say hello. Ifthat's true, then why am I so afraid to say good-bye? Wherever there is agood-bye, there is a hello, and wherever there is a hello, there is a good-bye.What a perfect circle.
It's funny how life does that to us sometimes,isn't it? How we start at one point and move through the ups and downs, twistsand turns of the circle until we come back where we started and start again. Wejust keep going and it never ends.
One by one, I take the memories out ofthe chest until new tears form from the old ones.
That can't beright.
I've already cried my tears from these memories; why do thesewounds still hurt? Why won't they go away? It's like they are an ugly part of methat will never go away, wounds that won't heal. Wounds that will never beforgotten.
Breathe! I need to breathe ... to gather myself.
Thesewounds have happened, they are done. I can't keep crying over spilled milk now.I've tried so hard all my life to hide these pains; it's time that I do, buthow?
I see now that there is a section of the chest that has never beenlooked at.
How could I have missed that?
At the very bottom,under everything else, is the section of happy tears.
My first kiss.
Learning how to make something good from somethingbad.
All the tears I've cried from laughter and friendship ... Even nowwhen I look back on these memories, I begin to laugh. And laugh, and laugh, andlaugh until I am rolling on the floor from thestomachache.
Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch,crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch,crunch.
Oh! One by one my painful tears break into a million pieces as Ilaugh. They are gone ... I can't get them back, I can't remember them without mychest of tears.
Maybe that is how it's supposed to be. In my hands I holdmy tears of joy ... they are now all that I have left. They are all that I needto remember. I suppose the next time I cry, I can look back on these, and thepain will just break away ...