I am alone. I was alone then, and I am alone now. I cried alone when my lungs felt the first shock of air. I cried of loneliness. I cried alone to the God I denounced when my father fell ill. We all cry alone. I cried alone on an air mattress, frozen in fear at the sound of the heavy breathing hovering above that woke me up to a friend’s brother turned invader. I cried again when a study session put me to sleep and a tutor had more on his mind. When it was over, in silence I cried. For the reasons I cry, I am not the only one, but the control of my tears is mine to hold alone. And I am out of control, and I cry and I cry because I feel so alone. But sometimes I can’t. Sometimes my heart stops, and my mouth sours, and my stomach tries to escape through my pores. Sometimes I can’t talk and I am paralyzed. And sometimes I smack my head on the bathroom floor after a night of blurring the lines. Sometimes I am lost because I am the only hope.