Are humans quietly looking for a place to cry on their own.”
In the city, in the crush of bodies and breath, sometimes there is no where to cry alone. You feel everything in your throat, and you need to open the valve. You need to let hot tears coat your whole face. Somehow you manage to keep them from tumbling out while the physical therapist puts sticky nodes on your back and feet and send currents through your body.
So, when he tells you to lie back and allow the electricity to ease your pain, that he'll be back in 15 minutes, you are silently grateful for that block of time when you can let them go. You spill the tears, and they fall all over the thin paper beneath your head. You release them to create a tiny pond in the indention made by your collarbone.
You keep your whimpers, though, to the quietest hush.