Tears and Joy

Sometimes when I wake up,

I see pictures in my head.

People smile big, like they had just finished laughing and were finally catching their breath, and then suddenly remember why it was that they were laughing in the first place.

Sometimes I can hear the laughter for a second, but mostly it’s just a dim echo of a memory.

I wonder why those people are never crying. Their mirth causes tears, but sorrow and pain are never present on their shiny, shiny faces.

I love to cry just as much as I love to laugh, they both cause a tightness in my chest that makes me feel as if I’m not breathing around a gapping chasm between my lungs any more.

Tears are just the inconvenience of crying. The shoulder wracking, cheek stretching spasms are what create the sutures that stitch me back up after I have been broken. Crying brings anguish back to a stable condition, and laughing brings joy to a peak.

I’ve finally come to realize that those people are what motivate me to open my eyes those mornings, because those are the mornings after nights of melancholy, and I am grateful.