Silent Tears

From atlas of scars, an anthology

A reflection on how I got to be a silent crier — no gasps for air, no whines or whimpers, just the wet drops on my face that separate life from living

Photo by Cody McLain on Unsplash

There is a level of grief

when no noise comes,

where the tears fall silently —

a staged grief

beyond the perpetual state of pain carried,

a pain that never lessens,

but only seems to accumulate.

A pain so well known

for so long

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that no screams come

because it’s expected.

Crying with big noises

And audible gasps

suggest still being in the entanglement,

still dancing with reality

and fighting.

Silent.

Tears are the point beyond the body —

no longer cries out in noise

because it’s not useful.

There’s nothing to gain

in the permanent state of being.