Tears.
Tears are a perpetual plethora of emotions.
Inexplicable entities.
Ambiguous.
It gets exasperating.
When they come out of their hiding
from inside your exhausted eyes
without giving you a heads up.
Those exhausted eyes
which haven’t known sleep for days,
or eyes which have known the dark
for hours.
Eyes which are in delusion,
eyes which know the truth.
Eyes which see the moon painted onto a pale evening sky.
Eyes which have seen blood splattered across their vicinity.
You might question their existence.
Why do they even exist?
It would be better to cry
if they didn’t exist.
There would be no awkward interrogation.
“Are you crying?”
“Why are you crying?”
“What happened?”
“Is everything okay?”
You want to put them on a display.
Let them be known.
They’re no less than a work of art.
Because yes,
they’re made of that saltwater of pain.
But you don’t.
You’re in fear.
Always in fear.
Without tears,
crying would be gratifyingly easy, wouldn’t it?
They wouldn’t run into weird places
like your ears
when you’re lying down.
Or into your mouth when you’re sitting up.
It gets exasperating.
When they trickle down your skin.
Skin that has been burned.
That skin for which the tears
might’ve been known throughout.
Skin that knows no touch of love.
Skin that has bore the tears for years.
It gets exasperating.
When they deceive you.
Tears are heart-rendingly deceptive.
Sometimes you want them
to come out of their hiding
but they don’t.
They get stuck in your veins.
Mixed with the blood,
making it burn in each part of the body.
At other times,
the blood throws them out
like a pen without ink.
Most deceptive when
they show themselves
in happiness.
What is happiness? They ask.
You want to cry
with each ache
that your body so proudly possesses.
Human emotions always come back to tears.
Happiness? Tears.
Sadness? Tears.
Anger? Tears.
Frustration? Tears.
Disgust? Tears.
Surprise? Tears.
Loneliness? Tears.
Jealousy? Tears.
Trust? Tears.
Anticipation? Tears.
Numbness? Meaningless tears.
But only the vision gets blurred with them.
Even being this way,
they are the sole companion
which you never realise
or expect them
to be.