cry, baby

No one told me it would be this hard. Life unravels every evening and I find myself sitting in a puddle of my own tears. I gasp and choke down my sobs, and then more come to the surface, ready to take over my breaths. After a few minutes of this, I feared the coming headache from hell, so I said to myself, "now that's enough, Saira dear." I wiped up the moisture, blew my nose, and settled onto a pillow. I set an alarm for ten minutes from then. I closed my eyes, and I breathed in and out. Thoughts raced in my head like cars on a drag strip. Haunting memories flashed in my mind. On. Off. On. Off. When I would lose my calm, I would lightly nudge myself back to my breath. I started thinking "love" on my inhales and "healing" on the exhales. When I thought about what healing means to me I made sure to include an enveloping warmth, like a heaven-sent embrace. Before I realized it ten minutes were over. The alarm gently pulled me back into the dark room, where covers were strewn around my half lotus crossed legs. I no longer felt the need to cry. I felt comfortably numb; if I never understood that expression before, suddenly it had meaning.

Remember, some days you will want to cry. You might need to cry. That's okay. It might take several months of this routine. Sure enough you'll have breaks in the blur, but then hard nights return. The world seems like a place of Take Away, and monsters chase you in your dreams. People always walk past you: you always seem one step behind the truth you seek. Don't close your heart down for repairs. It's resilient, and it is willing to bleed while you face life, reluctantly but steadily.

Cry, baby. You deserve it.

Love,
Saira