On the Downs

Sometimes I cry. Not big sobbing bursts of tears. Just wetness quietly leaking past my lashes when my head is tilted to the side a little bit. A burning sensation in the eyes. A sighing in the lungs. Sometimes I think that being so tired and calm is a greater sign of sadness. There's very little left of me for great emotional outbursts. It comes from not sleeping much and not enjoying being awake in the interim. Simultaneously, I'm indicting myself for allowing things to get to me. What a big baby I am sometimes. It's not the end of the world. I'm not made of stone. Somewhere in the middle, the twain shall meet.