bubba jenny

My Three Kinds of Tears

I. I can feel the tear slowly building up inside my eye, begging to be let out. It wants to come out at that movie scene that always makes me cry, like when Bubba and Jenny fucking die; when I am reminded of a memory that won’t leave my mind. With a blink of the eye I finally let it out between clenched teeth and tight lips. It flows out of my left eye, slowly streaming to the right, through the corner of my eye and fast down until it reaches my mouth where it lingers on my lips before my tongue wipes it clean; salty; cold. Sometimes it rolls over to the left, in which case it takes its sweet time down my cheek, painfully feeling the coldness, the wetness of the tear the longer it takes to fall; a reminder of the pain that caused it to erupt.The tear is like a creek, slow and soothing; soothing because it leaves me in a state of tranquility; where I calmly ponder it’s journey from my eyes.

II. Both my eyes fill up this time. The tears don’t take their time; they rush into my eyes with a speed unlike before. They form at the riverbank when I’m hit with a “miss you so”, when I crave your touch and know I can’t get a hold; when my thoughts race to my past mistakes. My mouth closed shut. Eyebrows pulled down. Frowning. Trying hard to keep it inside but they pour out, rushing like an untamed mountain river. My head falls in my palms, the only comfort I find. I have my own heart, in the palm of my own hands. Tears push and shove each other to the side, all wanting the attention of my hands, all wanting them to be swept away; but I can’t keep up. My voice cracks. Lets out a cry. Too much. I give up.

III. The last. The most tragic. These are the tears that spew out like molten lava without warning; without stopping. They do so when I break down at night; when I think of how I messed up; when I think of what lies ahead and how far off; when I let my own self down and wonder how I can get up from the ground. They are violent waves of an ocean during a raging hurricane; clashing against each other and swallowing you whole until you’re drowning. They’re the tears that cloud your eyes and leave you choking; can’t breathe; can’t see; can’t feel. My screams leave my mind and meet the tears; on my pillow; pressed to my face. I break away, let go of the comfort of the sheets, and move my head another inch, for there’s a puddle of my tears on my egyptian cotton sheets. Somehow I fall asleep. I’ll be ready for the headache that will never leave; in the morning I wish would never appear.