Hot Tears

I hate crying. I hate crying because when I start its almost impossible for me to stop. It’s pretty much over. I look light skinned after. I cry all of the chocolate away. I cry like that in the shower only. That way no one will hear me. I do. I cry.

Wait. I’m lying. Vasco Road. The path that gets me to and from work has seen many of my tears. Hot tears rolling down my cool check, burning with my vision blurry. My chest contracts in and out with my hand not serving as an adequate to tissue to wipe away the residue.

The reasons why I cry evolve as I let it flow. First, its my body and all it glorious imperfections. I then progress to my Spirit man and what I should be doing more of to make sure that I stay close to the Maker. Then my mama, my money and last but not least my man (who doesn’t exist in my life yet). The one I really want. That almost fictional character that I’ve fathomed time and time again in my mind. He who is loving and cherishing my every thought and breath. Strong armed, big dimpled face with breathtakingly kind eyes. A chocolate specimen so delectable you want to lick his skin! As the tears flow I secretly pray that he is looking for me as hard as I am desiring him…whoever he may be. The tears really flow then! A mixture of warm liquid and salt. Red and now bruised skin sensitive to even my own touch. Transforming my pretty face into an exact replica of a peach pit out of my grandmother’s garden.

Tears have a cleansing capability. They wash the soul. As hard as it is to endure a good hot cry always makes me feel better.