there are many different kinds of tears.
there are the ones you cried when you came alive. the tears of life, of breath, of hope and light.
there are the tears you cry when you fall for the first time in your life. and the second, and the third. the scrape of the pavement against your knees, the pain of skin parting and the blood leaking through, red, angry, and stark. the tears you cry until you become accustomed to the hurt and pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and continue with your day.
there are the tears of loss. the ones you cry in grief over losing someone you’ve never met. someone you’ve missed by mere months. someone you hear of, a wonderful person who would’ve spoiled you and turned you into a total brat. the one they talk about, because they knew him, unlike you. you cry, because your jealous and angry and frustrated. then you find about the white lies and all the things they didn’t tell you. and you cry, because somehow it is your fault.
there are the tears of disappointment, when you fail a paper, or lose a competition, or your birthday cake was given to another family on mistake. the tears your parents try to cease with comforting hugs and pats on the back, as they sigh and shake their heads and try to ease the frown on your face, hanging your third-place medal in the living room or giving you an extra serving of ice cream. the tears of disillusionment, that the world doesn’t quite function as you dreamed.
then there are the tears of heartbreak. the ones that fall when you realise you’re not going to marry that boy you’ve been stealing glances at in class. when you find out that boy who opens doors for you and pulls chairs out for you doesn’t make you happy after all. when the boy who made you almost deliriously happy, who made you forget your troubles, who made you believe in love, whom you ate pizza with and ran down the street with, lets you go. when you’re forced to confront the fairytale you’ve nurtured of the boy who walks you home and holds you when you’re broken beyond words, that he isn’t worth waiting for. the tears you cry at 4AM alone, in the kitchen, lying on the cold marble counter. the same counter you dreamt of sitting on and kissing him. the one who tells you “you deserve better,” and yet you think you’d rather be with him than anyone he deems ‘better’.