control

don’t tell me how to cry. i know it, i know it. better than you think
[even better than i knew.]
i know it.
tears came, they came. tonight.
oh and of course i didn’t like it. i wiped at my face furiously with the sleeve of my black tee. my nose, my eyes, my face [and the wiping left stains like the trails of snails, so shiny and so pretty]. but my eyes blushed red, my cheeks flushed pink and my nose choked at the surprise of it all.
and it gave
my game
of hide and seek
away.
don’t tell me how to cry
but please
tell me how to be okay when i cry. i want to be proud of my tears. i want to feel the completeness
the purity
of giving into sadness
of giving into helplessness. i want to feel okay with breaking down and open and apart. i want to find strength in the saltiness. i want to realise how clever the whole thing is – how my body will just do even with my arms wrapped tight around my ribcage. i’m not even fooling myself,
i hold nothing together.

have you ever cried upside down?

today was two kinds of day.

it was beautiful and it was agonising. it was inspiring. it was nostalgia, wrapped in a sweater of friendship and love. it was a tremendous amount of anxiety, of preparation… preparing for heartache. my body steadying for the blow.

oh.

it will be tough.

my eyelids were wet with tears. a coldness, made from salt and all my fears. time is gaining on me. in thirteen sleeps i’ll be up, up and away.

change makes me sad. change makes me happy. change makes me.

today i laughed so hard, i cried.

tears blurred my vision as i clutched my sides and choked on the words i hopelessly attempted to form; nonsensical broken sentences, parts of words spluttered between a gasping of air and spurts of silent laughter.

and as i bounced up and down, the welling in my eyes overflowed, streaming down my face and leaving a residue of dry, gritty, salt on my cheeks.

in that moment, i felt a giddiness i hadn’t known in years. a reminder of how wonderful it is to be simply and knowingly happy.