I sat there wilting with your heart in my hands,
And it was symbolic at best the way my tears fell and mixed with the blood, a tye-dye of pain and exasperation.
Each tear fell heavier than the last as if the pain grew both inside and out.
Crying was supposed to help.
I thought it was supposed to be shedding
the pain of failure, loss, and rejection.
Instead, each drop just weaved its way into the pool of mysteries unsolved, sinking deeper and deeper until it was no longer clear exactly why I was leaking.