Find something to cry about

Sometimes I’ll send a link to something I liked to my friend and he’ll respond with, “That’s depressing.”
“No,” I respond. “It’s beautiful.”
[Listen to Hotline Bleak.]

Somebody recently said to me, “You’re a dark cloud that doesn’t rain.”

I scribbled the phrase FIND SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT on the back of my notebook.

Today I cried.
No, today I wept. I broke. I cracked.
And it was sensational. It felt like I was breaking the surface, water pouring from my face, gasping for air.
It was the crescendo,
a moment,
something.

And I sat, catching my breath.
feeling incredible.
like I just pushed something off me
or ran a marathon
or swam under water for
a very long time.

I am tragic.
But tragedy has not touched me.
A princess who leans her torso out the tower and wonders what it’s like outside those walls.

Today I was sitting on an overturned plastic bucket frowning at my lit cigarette.
It isn’t the same.
it’s somehow different.
It doesn’t satisfy me.

The new dishwasher squatted next to me and passed me his blunt. We puffed and passed in silence. Then he looks at me and says,
“I hate Monday.”
“Why?”
He stares off. “Because that’s the day my daughter died.”
“Oh gosh,”
“She was four.”
“I’m so,”
“Dumb ass, drugged up mother,”
“so,”
“was driving,”
“sorry,”
“tboned.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Shit happens.”

I didn’t finish my cigarette

I can’t imagine the grief.
But I can try. I can close my eyes and try.
And when I do I can make myself cry.

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