there was this girl, and she couldn't cry. not that there was anything wrong with her eyes, gray-green like the sea under a storm. not that she didn't feel anything - because she did, oh yes she did. but she couldn't cry. the saddest book or the most tragic film appealed to her emotions, and yet she felt nothing but a little trembling in her eyelids. she hurt herself and her eyes remained dry. she was hurt by others, betrayed by friendship and love, and yet she could not weep. she saw her hopes collapsing, shattering in the cold, dirty ground, and not a single tear drop would run through her cheeks and hit the dust. she couldn't quite explain it. all she knew was she was unable to cry.
and then she realised the truth. she was, indeed, able to cry, just not like everyone else. others cried for the outside, large teardrops rolling down their faces, audible sobs that make the entire body shake in anticipation. she cried for the inside, her tears flowing quietly to her inner being like an underground river whose existance no one acknowledges. until one day, she thought. one day she wouldn't be able to contain any more tears. one day her lungs would be full of salty water and she would drown from the inside. one day all the sadness of all the ages would overtake her, and she would die alone as she had always cried alone.