tears

You okay?__t__ a residential street, but it__ not the street of the party.I shake my head no.__re you going to be okay?_ he asks.I lean back, resting my head against the seat, and close my eyes. __ miss her.

What is the weight of a tear? The single tear falls when the buckets have stopped, when dry eyes and a slightly raised chin sometimes let it slip, like a prayer. It carries the weight of a lifetime.

Stung, I lifted my eyes to his and saw them as if for the first time. Eyes the color of rain, soft as dew and strong enough to etch a mountainside. Tears shimmered there _ tears, ay Mother! Or maybe they were in my own eyes.

Tears are not thorns.

Does life teach us anything more, I wondered, than not to cry over all there is to cry about?

I may not have wings, but my hands do a better job in wiping away the tears anyway.

Hearing those words, I instinctively turn to my new keeper, regretting it, because for only the third time in my entire existence, tears are streaming down my cheeks.

When the rain is on my lipsAnd I shiver from the coldThinking about lifeIts ups and downsAnd being a melancholicI take a noteOf the nature's crying its tearsMaking the day seem gray And unexcited But how much life the rain bringsTo what is hidden beneath the surfaceSo whenever I cry And the cold of people's wordsOr actionsCausing me shiverI vision myself standing in the rainBringing my roots to lifeI am not afraid anymoreOf getting soaking wetI stand my ground! But please natureDon't let me drown, make me beautiful!

I don't wanna be the joker who makes eyes full of tears in the end

Stop it," Chance says out loud, angryraw, scornful voice that she hardly recognizes, "Jesus, just fucking stop it," but she's crying again, and her eyes burn, and she's so goddamn sick of the sound, the smell and saltbland flavor of her own useless tears.

What comes from sorrow, watered by tears, grows something of beauty. A salt garden. And so this I leave behind. A harvest for those who find their way into my life and I into theirs.

Laughter is like crying.

I sob and clutch my stuffed bunny. Nick leaps up on my bed and squashes his body against mine, nuzzling my face with his muzzle until I lift it enough for him to lick away my tears.While the pixie rages downstairs, I wrap my arms around Nick__ furry body and cry into him. My shoulders quake from the effort of it. He whimpers once or twice and tries to lick my face some more, but mostly he watches the door, and eventually I stop with the pathetic sobbing stuff and just keep crying.

Tears are for happiness.

A single tear forms, just in the corner of one eye, but it doesn't roll down my cheek; it merely crystallizes in the cold air, it grows and grows into a second giant globe that doesn't want to orbit with the world__t breaks off from the planet and plunges into infinity.

...The sea... some have said is nothing but a library of all the tears in history.

Every year, when we finished Gatsby, I read the last page aloud. Also, every year, I wept... I almost looked forward to it. Crying once a year is probably necessary... it was involuntary, almost external, like being rained on, a nourishment, and it made me glad that I could feel that deeply, or had once.

In all that I saw, I was satisfied, for I could dance in the drops of water, laugh with the laps of joyous tears, and sing to the songs of streaming senses.