When you stay for a long time without crying, the tears call a meeting once a week and decide what they will do to you. Mine have had the meeting for a long time and boy, they had memos and minutes and now they are here for business.
I swear, if they had mouths to talk with, they would be singing hallelujah as they stream down my face.
Oh, crap. I am not a cry-baby.
Dear tears, fuck off and leave me alone.
I sniff and look at my face in the mirror. It looks great I have to say. I can't imagine my face smudged with some mascara. At least it is easy to wipe the tears off with my fucking t-shirt without thinking about who is going to wash it.
I hold on to the sink tightly and cuss my head, plus my mind, let us not forget my mother too.
I just hate everything right now. But most importantly, I hate the tears.
