I’ve been weeping during movies, even the previews, and I can’t go anywhere near Central Park. Pregnant ladies, fathers pushing strollers, a little girl with a balloon tied wrist, families huddle on picnic blankets, a boy tests training wheels. Friends jog and gossip. New lovers lick each other in violet shadows beneath ancient trees. This weather makes me feel alone. Where’s the rain? Everything living runs from the rain… I wish it would. I would stand drenched and smile into clouds.
I’m wearing lament, buttoned it on like a shirt. I’m not sad; ironically, maybe that’s why I’m crying. It makes me feel alive. Though, I’ll tell ya this, my face can’t take the saline. If you cry, laugh, and think every day you’re doing something right. I heard that once, and I really believe it. Call me drama. Go ahead. I know.
Yes, I worry my life isn’t charting the right course. I worry I talk too much, or I’m too confident, or too self-doubting. I worry about contradicting myself, about being messy and unsure. I fear I won’t make my dreams happen, that I won’t have the courage, or the strength. I worry I am going to die alone. Then the tears stain everything, leaving rings, like the insides of ancient trees.