To convey a loss, to convey a pain, to convey a hurt, we cry.
We cry because it’s okay to cry. We cry because the moonlight hurts our eyes when it bounces off fresh snow which melts as soon as it hits the ground, little snowflakes little shooting stars, and suddenly it’s a flooded road glimmering of second hand sunlight.
We cry because it’s okay to miss. I cry because I miss people who are a part of my life still, people who I met today, people who I’ll meet again in a few days, people who make my heart ache of the depth they present. People who’ll be with me, in memory and soul, in my traits and I, in theirs (I hope).
We cry because we love people. I cry because I love people. Parts of them are parts of me, a skin they will shed which I wear with pride, their trash my treasure I cherish. Their ways I adopt, their traits I appreciate, their love I share. Parts of them are parts of me, soon I will bleed and stain the walls crimson here and silver there, some blue here and some gold there, because the sunlight too is made of 7 colors - and what am I if not sunlight (okay, second hand, sure) made from colors I collected, combined, clustered to constitute me, after all, parts of them are parts of me.
To convey a loss, a pain, a hurt, we cry.
I cry because I feel a loss, a pain, a hurt.
