You were only tears to me,

Tears and sighs.

I realized you can get used to anything,

Even tears.

Each tear is different:

The ones under the shower, merging with water droplets,

The ones on the bed, soaking half the pillow.

The tears behind the wheel, so heavy your eyes can't see the road ahead.

The hidden tears in a crowd,

Triggered by a memory tied to the smallest thing.

The tears in front of the mirror,

When you’re staring at your own eyes.

Tears before sleep,

Tears in the early morning,

Tears every two days, once a week,

Or the serial tears—two or three days in a row.

Tears when you realize our story is truly over.

Tears for deep longing,

Tears because your own pain feels unbearable,

Tears from hatred,

Tears for the unfairness of life,

Tears for the feeling of loss,

Tears when you feel rejected.

The mixed tears,

The ones laced with anger,

The ones so absurd they make you laugh.

Tears you’ve been waiting for,

Hoping they’d come and go because you know crying will make you feel better.

And tears you don’t want,

But they come anyway, at the worst times.

Crying is the only thing you can do.

When days pass without tears,

You pray for them to come,

Beg for the relief they bring.

Tears streaming down your cheeks and neck,

Falling onto your hands,

Soaking the paper beneath you.

Tears you could wash your face in.

Tears with music,

Starting exactly at a certain part of a song.

Tears you don’t want to end.

Tears that burn your chest,

Rising from the depths of your heart.

Tears while waiting behind a red light,

As homeless people look at you with wonder.

Tears which are better than nothing.

Tears which are as essential to life as water.