It’s not that they aren’t there,
They are there, believe me.
Hiding deceptively, all coy and innocent
Residing beneath the surface
Threatening to well up and escape.

But they never quite do.

Maybe the tears don’t feel
That they have been earned yet.

Swelling to bursting in an instant,
The next moment you don’t even
Have the energy to make a
Sound as the futility of –
Of sobbing overwhelms you.

Or maybe,
They know that if I let them start
They may never stop.

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