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The Title Is at the End

Why Is It...?

Why is it...

That they say, "T'is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?"

That they talk about love lost and the pain it brings but leave very little in the conversation about the first discovery of love?

That nobody talks about finding love for the first time when all this time you thought you knew what love was, only to discover the real thing and have it spiral out of control?

That nobody tempers the fragile yolk of your heart to the fire you feel when true love rains down on you like so many rays from the sun, scrambling the whites of your soul—to which the eyes are the windows—so that you can no longer see straight?

That they can no longer cry because they cried in loneliness, in heartbreak, in rage so long that the tears no longer fall or even crash around me—I mean "them"—the only crashing being the depression that inevitably follows my manic high—I mean "them" again... Or IS it just me because I can no longer cry?

I can no longer cry, but she...she cries all the time—tears of joy, of sorrow, of being so touched by words spoken to her in the kitchen at her job. When I tell her that we are a team and we will either win together or lose together but regardless of the outcome, we come out of it together still.

I can no longer cry but she cries at reading about our growing baby in her womb, tears of joy when the obstetrician uses the word "perfect" to describe our little Stormtrooper's heartbeat. Tears nobody expected from the girl who aspired to be the crazy cat-lady aunt, who never wanted kids but she says she met me and that changed her mind because I changed her. She met me, who never cared that she had scars because her scars matched mine like neighboring jigsaw pieces. She loves me more than I love myself and it pains me to keep that to myself because I'm an ugly crier and the absence of tears make it worse.

From Tori:

He can no longer cry, but I cry at the baby growing inside, joy at 16 weeks starting to show. Everyone knows I'm pregnant but nobody knows the struggle of resisting the urge to indulge the demon that has turned my life into a daily test of willpower.

He can no longer cry but I cry at the thought of losing him, nightmares of loss waking me up and seven missed calls and frantic texts on his phone when he cannot reach the phone right now so please leave your message after the beep—

Cannot come to the phone right now, so please leave your message...

Cannot come to the phone right now, so please leave...

Cannot come to the phone right now, so please...

Cannot come to the phone right...

Cannot come to the phone...

Cannot... 

I cannot handle this right now. I fall asleep, tears still wet down my cheek. I wake up to texts from him. I wake up to see he loves me. I hoped to wake up to just see myself in his arms. I pray to God to bid him stay. He returns, falls into bed with me... Today, he cried with me.

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The Title Is at the End
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