You ask why I cry. “Are you okay?” An arbitrary question really. If only you knew what the tears kept secret. “I am fine.” An equally arbitrary answer. And still I cry. Sometimes my emotions are too great and the only escape for them is a single tear drop one by one as the salty residue coats my cheeks. The only evidence of my feelings. Articulating my thoughts is often clearer through tear-soaked lenses. Catharsis. A soothing tool. Coping mechanism. Release. Tears are easy to hide. A steady stream. Nothing more. And yet you always knew. Well usually. Except in the dark and quiet of the night. The only sound: your breathing. I often lay awake wondering if this would be the final moment. The funny thing is, I don’t even remember the last time. But I remember the deafening silence. The smell of your sheets. The feel of my warm tears against my cold cheeks. The war in my head. And just once, I wanted you to wake and ask, “Why do you cry?” And as my back turns, so do the tables. But you don’t realize that I’ve made up my mind. Countless times, I contemplated whether or not I should just walk out the door. Never look back. Yet, like the tears stained on my face, I stay.