Crying on the bus

I barely shed a tear when my father died. Not that I wasn't upset. I was devastated. I just didn't cry as a teenager.

As the years have passed, my emotions have bubbled closer to the surface. The slightest shake and they rise and pop. Don't ask me why. If I understood that sort of shit I wouldn't be sitting at a desk typing stuff no-one will ever read.

In takes little to summon tears. A beautiful morning autumn sky and Bargain was enough at the bus stop today.

I used to worry about looking weak or girlish. Not any more. I didn't try to stop or hide the tears on the bus. Who cares what the other passengers think? I don't care about them.

I cried an ocean at my mother's funeral. Tears enough to wash both parents to heaven, nirvana; a quiet place.

Since then I care little for what others think of my tears.

My best writing is stained with tears.