I hear this a lot from well-intentioned friends – certainly it’s something of a cliche that I myself have employed. I tend to process intense emotion (especially when I’m flung between emotional extremes – I’ve even cried when I’ve been flung from sadness to happiness) through tears (don’t most women?), so any sort of heart ache goes hand in hand with crying.
It struck me tonight that my tears aren’t for him, though. They are for dashed dreams, the realisation that he didn’t feel what I thought he did, and the feeling that I’ve been a fool. They are for me. And *I* am worth my tears.
I cry for feeling like a fool.
I cry for trusting someone who maybe wasn’t worthy of it.
I cry for dreams and plans that will not come to pass.
I cry because old wounds are torn again.
I cry because someone whose presence added to my life has pulled out of it.