Did you ever have one of those weekends? Or maybe for you it was a few days in a row. The kind where tears sit at the edge of your eyelids, ready to spill out and onto your cheeks, in small drops or watery torrents, waiting for the moment that causes them to brim. Once started they make rivulets on your cheeks, crooked bookmarks of the emotions of your heart on those days.
Bet you know what I’m talking about.
Whether they be salty happy things made sweet because they were bits of joy from your soul or squeezing, halting drops of sadness from a heart bleeding, I think that tears spent are very good.
They are good for the soul.
They are emotional currency paving the way to a clearer view of whatever made them rise.
There is science that says they wash away bits of molecules and compounds that aid your psyche in achieving a clearer view.
It is less clear whether humans are the only ones to use their tear ducts in such a way.
But for humans it is sure, they let emotions find exit in tears in ways that other words or other actions do not suit.
We are humans, made to cry, when memories or times or places provoke us to acknowledge emotion painted on the walls of our hearts.
Tears do not amend the situations, and whether through evolutionary time or design intelligent, fall solely for sake of solace. And if done not in solitude, but in special fraternity around those we love, they are shared or wiped with tender hands, or soothed with flowing kindness or smiles.
Let them fall, I say. Whenever the heart demands.
Author’s note: Yes. It was this weekend for me.