The Cry Room

The bottles of tears line the shelves, rows upon rows. Filled to nearly overflowing. Collected over millennia, they stand as reminders of the human response to emotion.

Happy. Sad. Angry. As the tears flow, more bottles are filled and come down the line. The system organizes them with speed and efficiency. This is a warehouse, industrial, stern. No mood lighting. No gentle music.

But every once in a while, the sun will filter through the one window high up on the eastern wall and the light will catch the angle just right. And for a moment, there will be rainbows.

Flowers of Despair (For 5.23.12)

I kneel by your headstone, your finial bed.

You died too soon. I never got to know you. There are so many things I wanted to teach you. I waited so long for you. I wanted you, looked forward to meeting you. I loved you with all my heart. I still do. Even though you are gone, I dream of meeting you. I never dreamed that I could love and miss someone so much, especially someone I only met once.

“I love you,” I whisper.

My tears fall onto the flowers by your grave; my tears watering the despair in me.

{escape} 5.28.12

Just open your computer, check your email once more, read that blog again, waste your time.

Just create something, find something to make that will replace what's happening.

Jut turn on the TV. Shut off your mind. Sit there. Relax.

Just work out. Exercise so your mind shuts off.

Just escape. Escape the emotions, the pain, the sadness. Escape the present.

But I can't search my life on google and relive the past. No one is going to email me the future. I can't find what I'm missing on tv, or stop the clock, there's no escape. Everything is ending.