I almost cried on the train today. I also almost cried at the bus stop. And I almost cried as I walked home.

I held it in, of course. I focused on something else

But throughout the day, the feeling followed me. A wave of unexpected sadness and a desperate need to release it. To feel it. But I held it in. I focused on something else.

Soon, I was no longer at the bus stop, I wasn’t on the train, and I had finally reached home.

Every step and every push forward was backed by the promise that I would grant myself a moment, a time to cry. “Just not now.” I believed myself. I trusted that I would give myself a chance to feel and an opportunity to express myself. I always trust myself because if I did not, then who can I trust. Who else would let me cry?

But I never did. And the feeling left. At least, I thought so. 

Because I have been wanting to cry, I have been feeling the feeling of wanting to cry. But every time it comes, every time I finally allow it to come, it doesn’t. And I am left here with feelings I can’t express and a weight I can’t let go off. 

And I hope eventually I will cry. And as I hope, I also fear for the moment because I am not sure if I will ever stop once I start. And, instead of being the girl that never cried, I will become the girl that never stopped.

I wish I cried on the train. And at the bus stop and, as I walked home. I wish I cried because that would release me from being anything. It would release me from being the girl who cried or never cried. 

It would release me because I would be feeling. I would be feeling instead of wondering what type of girl I was. Because I would be present, and I would be just a girl who is crying on the train, at the bus stop, and on her way home. 

I wish I cried so that I could just be the girl who cried when she needed to.