The tears of the world are a constant quantity. For each one who begins to weep somewhere else another stops. The same is true of the laugh.
This late age of the world’s experience had bred in them all, all men and women, a well of tears. Tears and sorrows; courage and endurance; a perfectly upright and stoical bearing.
Suddenly you began to sob. It was an unnerving sound, like air escaping from a faucet when the water stops.
He drank his coffee and watched the Silex bubble and steam, and he wept. The weeping was very calm and completely silent. It and his cup of coffee ended at the same time.
Despite the smile on her face, her entire frame had from the beginning been convulsed with weeping.
He cries a great deal of the time: so steadily that the crying goes unnoticed, as would the habituate noise of a nearby waterfall.
There our oun mothers' tears shall heal us whole.
It’s a waste of water to cry, I tell myself, but I can’t seem to stop.
And maybe one day when you’re all grown up maybe you will need to cry like if you’re three, and that’s okay. That’s what I tell Mama when she’s sad and needs to cry. Maybe she’s feeling three.
I would have liked to weep, but the ducts were as dry as the hot-water pipes.