Waterworks on demand

It seems that tears are almost always waiting right behind my eyes, ready to spring forth whenever I allow myself to linger too long on a thought that provokes sentiment or sadness. I hate the way I look when I cry. My eyes get so puffy I can barely recognize myself. So, sometimes, I feel that little prickle in my nose and the slight rise in temperature behind my eyes, and I know that tears are coming and I chase them away through sheer force of will. It doesn't change the fact that I know they're still lurking, though. Waiting.

But I also know the value of crying. I know the release it creates. I know the comfort of conjugating the verb "to sob." If I didn't have to suffer the cosmetic and physiological aftermath of a good cry, I imagine I would have one quite often.