The Significance of Hot Tears
The remarkable nature of hot tears…I wonder if this topic may seem odd to some, for surely people exist who have never noticed that there are different kinds of tears. I will admit I envy those who have no personal knowledge that hot tears serve a very specific purpose. I know, becuase I have walked the cruel and unrelenting path of my own personal Hell and have come out, victorious, so they say, on the other side. For those of us who carry on, always protecting those scars that remain deep within — we know we are in trouble when the hot tears come. I suppose they are cathartic, so I will acquiesce that they are, most likely, well intentioned, yet I cannot help but abhor them, becuase it’s like that old cliche, “The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.” For those of us who are not prone to showing emotions, and prefer to rationalize our way through life, I know the process is all very logical, the mechanics of what happens, but there is no logic when you realize you are about to be forced to feel the pain you fight to keep at bay every single day. No amount of strength or logic can spare your spirit, body, and mind from having to feel the searing pain that has been trapped inside of you, probably at your own bidding, becuase even this girl, admittedly the type to lie with a smile and say, “Oh, I am fine!” There comes a time when even she can’t keep up that facade any longer. It is this time, most likely when she is alone, when it is late, so late it is now early, only now does she finally allows herself to break down. The molten lava which has been gulped down for what feels like an eternity spews to life, much like a geyser, and hot tears flow. It’s not a pretty sight, as hot tears often bring even the strongest woman down to her knees. She allows herself these tears, for she knows she cannot forever deny any sign of that vunerability she so hates. She hits the kitchen floor. Why it is always the kitchen remains a mystery, but it is the pattern. I suppose hot tears like cold floors…and after the hot tears are all gone, she will dust herself off and rise again. To rise again, like Maya speaks of, so poetically; rise again she does, however there is a vicious dichotomy associated with strength, which is only known to her, as she would never let anyone see the pain she carries. There are even sometimes when she can forget it is there, but then, like the gaping raw wound it is, inevitably she feels the heavy cloak of her burden fall back down on her shoulders; she is Atlas again, all that weight…the weight of the world. Even she doesn’t know how she holds it up sometimes, but she does so, quite flawlessly too. Those around never know how fragile she really is. Only the hot tears know, and for those of you who understand the significance of hot tears, you don’t have to be told that hot tears always promise to keep your secret, they could never betray you, for they are silent, just like her pain.