I was a mess. An absolute mess.
Good thing Dad wasn't here. The last thing I needed was another "it's going to be alright". Because it wasn't. Not in my life.
Knots rose from my throat, threatening only a huge burst of useless tears. What would tears do now? If I cried any more, I'd run out of them.
A small bird fluttered outside my window and landed lightly on the window box. It was a young robin. It stayed hidden between the flowers for a while, pecking pointlessly at the ceramic window box. Soon, it had flown away, leaving only small prints in the soft soil to show that it had been there. It looked so free. So... careless.
At that moment, I wanted to be a bird. I could fly away. Away from life. I wouldn't have to worry about memories and lost mothers and life. No sudden outbursts of tears that do nothing but make your eyes sting.
Do birds cry?