There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief…and unspeakable love
- Washington Irving
It wipes away some of the shame. The depths of sorrow, the darkest rage. No longer perceived as a weakness of will and spirit. More relieved that the expression was not contrived. Kitschy art or vapid song, a sculpted sonnet, stinky socks to hide the truth. Behind closed doors and under wraps, but as it was, as it is. No longer polarizing outward expression and inner world. You changed me more than I dared admit.
Bloody hell more garrulous crap. Careening wildly between insomnia and narcolepsy. Two days in bed and two days no sleep. Nasty nasty pattern. Wild child of Africa. Psychedelic rainbows. Sinewy muscle. Artistic soul. I laik.
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