"A heaviness wrapped itself up with me in between the sheets last night. I invited it in, thinking that eventually this misery and I would renew a lost friendship. Misery is company conjured by my mind when I stay in there for far too long. Then I cried. I never agreed that crying was a form of weakness; I agree, however, that it has been a sign of life since birth. Once in awhile living becomes existing and a cry is the only way for me to sedate the pandemonium. Crying pleases me because it drives me into a direction of climatic optimism. I’d rather drench my pillows with tears and wake up with the residue in my eyes as puffiness than befriend danger. I’d rather risk a little embarrassment than my life in order to compromise things that have no place being compromised. That means that I won’t engage in reckless behaviors because I can’t keep myself in check for a moment. Now who truly has control? So, I have a really good cry about three times a year. After one of those rainy nights of intimacy with my bed or wherever I can find to unleash the furies, I feel like air and I are compatible: pure beatitude. If you don’t cry and feel that it is a form of weakness, my heart goes out to you for you are missing out on one of the best forms of emotional human expression that ever was."

— scatterbrained thoughts, 04.

posted 1 year ago