The welling tears form a layer of haze from the outer to inner corners.
I hold my breath hoping that the liquid will recede like a wave returning to its base from shore.
With an inhale, the wall breaks
At the tip of the strands of tears is the leader: a hot, thick bulb pulling the rest of sadness from my eyes with force.
The more I think, the quicker the legions come.
Today I’m no longer a kid.
I’ve entered the teenage league.
“Why are you crying?” Mom asks compassionately. “I don’t know,” my trembling voice says back.
As I stand in her familiar embrace, connected like during my time in her womb, the top of our heads stop at the same point in space.
Now I feel wetness on my neck. Mom is crying too. And as the tears gush from her eyes, the blessings rush from her lips at an unsteady pace. Pausing. Breathing. Crying.