haven’t cried in a long while. it’s not cleansing, or carthartic or anything one would usually hope to achieve at the end of such a blithering wrenching bout; it merely served as a distraction to a turbulent piecing together of fragments into patterns.
then something in the deli aisle makes you cry. and all you wanted to say, either voiced or unvoiced, are eventually given up and locked inside parentheses.
