I've had a tough day today.
Last night was tough, too. Cried hard...and I'm not afraid to admit it.
You can ask why, but I may not answer in depth.
It's good for me to cry, but only occasionally. If I'm going to cry, that means I'm digging into some deep, surprisingly sensitive areas.
If I'm gonna cry, it had better mean something.
Funny how it sneaks up on me, though. Most often it does sneak up on me. It happens when I talk about my mom. And I don't say that to make the ladies swoon. We've been through some stuff together, and she hasn't deserved one bit of it. Mind you, it hasn't been from me, either.
But the surprise cry is cathartic, in a way.
The father and son playing catch.
The lost, panicked dog in the busy street.
The woman putting her best face on as her marriage crumbles.
Seeing a picture of yourself as a baby in the arms of your now distant father.
Remembering when you and your siblings spent every day together.
Today and last night were different cries. Painful cries, almost mourning. That, I do not do often at all. I was in a sad state. I cannot remember the last time I've done that. Kinda weirded myself out.
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