When I close my eyes, this is what I see. Each time, a new droplet has been added. Once in a blue moon, the number of tears will stay the same, and that day would be the day I haven’t cried.

Daily, though, the tears do come.

I can place a memory to some of the tears. The one at the bottom, second row from the left, that one is for my mother. A few of them after that is from my father hurting my mother. But the biggest droplet is the one two lines in from the right, from when he was drunk but drove, and died.

Daily, though, the tears do come.

And the tears I shed make up the lines of a beautiful pattern of how I wish my life would be.