Sometimes I despise the fact that I cannot cry easily towards my own problem. Sure, I easily cry when I am angry, but it is not something that can be deal with crying, so it is completely useless. I am talking about crying when you are sad or in pain. Angry, on the other side, does need to be calmed down, but you can do it via another thing other than crying. But sadness; do you know the feeling when you are just so overwhelmed with emotions and you just kind of want to sit down and cry? I was craving the goodly hour of crying my heart out, but I cannot cry. I don’t know why. Is my problem not worth enough for my tears to go out? And they easily slip out when I see something animal-abuse-related-things.

So what can I do when I want to cry? I write. I write about someone else crying, I write about someone else moping, sobbing into their pillow, tears running down their cheeks. Not mine, them. But it is not the same, you know. It is not the real thing. Sure, I can describe how the crystal-like teardrop slowly pacing their way down to the cheekbones, how the green eyes look glassy filled with water, how their breath are hitched, how their face are flushing and red. But, again, it is not mine. It is them.

I believe there is some time when you can just solve the problem with crying. I believe crying is actually a good relief. I believe that crying is actually important. I believe I can cry.

But after all this time, I cannot. I wonder why. I didn’t remember that this cannot-crying-ability bothers me this much. Is that mean the older you get, the more you need to cry out your feeling? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.