I have a problem.
I can’t cry in closed spaces.
Bathrooms, cubicles,onto pillows. You name it.
Unless there’s a sense of grandeur or at least a place that offers me solace and assurance that it is bigger than I am. That’s where I can cry.
Really cry I mean.
Shedding a tear or two is not really crying.
Real crying is when your whole body is in so much pain that it is ready to give itself away.If you would concentrate on one part you could feel it’s need to be torn apart because how it is now, however it is, is just too painful to stay that way.
But sadly mind has the control.
It won’t let us do such ‘harm’ to ourselves as long s it’s bearable.
Mind doesn’t understand that even truly ragged clothes are held together by pieces of thread but that doesn’t make the cloth whole and healed. It doesn’t understand that it’ll be easier, more helpful even to tear the cloth apart and use the pieces to make something more useful.
Even if it can preserve those rags for some more time, they will tear apart just as they wish to. It’ll just be more painful.
Mind’s a stupid bitch.
So the body and soul take control in the only way they can.
Slowly, painfully and rather carefully they send out little pieces of flesh and bones through the only window that mind has least control over.
They deceive the mind as often as they can; rebel against its whims most times to follow their own and lets go of pieces that were in unbearable pain to find a new destiny.
A new body probably.
And hence a new future.
That’s also why I will never cry in a closed space.
I don’t wish to deny my pieces a chance at something better. I don’t want to imprison them within small walls. I want the best for them.
I did not let them go so they’d suffer more.
I want them to go an endless place with endless possibilities.
Failing that, At least a place bigger than myself.
A place with lesser pain.