And all she can do is smile and say, "good-bye"

There is a definite beatific element to crying.

A catharsis expressed so eloquently by running water.

Drying, leaving salt stains on ruddy cheeks.

A simple gesture for not so simple things.

Feeling them drip down- one at a time- until fall away.

A soft pillow to soak up the sorrow; a sponge for feelings.

A certain regret that always sit on a stomach like an ulcer.

Yet an airiness that lightens up the lungs.

Sobs sing out like an abstract, experimental symphony.

Phone going unanswered.

It was all worth it. It was.