{fragility}

"Girls are supposed to cry. Sometimes they don't even know why, they simply do."

"She wasn't sure if she had read that in a book or if someone has told her. However, the opinion seemed to be surprisingly universal, it was simply feminine nature to cry at times, sometimes for reasons not fully understood. It confused her, she wasn't sure if it was supposed to be intentional or not. It must have to be intentional, after all, one could hardly be expected to involuntarily burst into tears for no reason, could they? Perhaps they could. Perhaps that was the problem.

Was it possible that she simply was not sad enough? Or maybe she was unfeeling? Perhaps if she only allowed things to affect her more she would find herself crying for reasons she could not explain. Or if she only thought about them more? That was feminine nature too wasn't it? Over-thinking things? She couldn't help but conclude this to be the answer to the problem. She simply wasn't allowing herself to immerse her mind fully into the emotional nuances of things. Life is a tragedy to those who feel, apparently she wasn't feeling enough.

It felt rather silly though, crying. The first time she tried it was midday, the sun was shining and it felt like silliness. So she tried it again at night, after all the lights in the house were long out and the fragile mood of witching hour had set in. It was a full moon. The lawn was glittering in the silver light from the dew, and serene glow of the landscape made rampant emotions seem absurd. So she waited again, until the moon was just a narrow sliver in the sky.

She seated herself on the end of a long bench by the window and gaze outside. There was little light, just enough to see the dim shapes of the shrubs, the slice of light from the moon was so slight it seemed mournful, and the stars seemed far brighter. And she began to think, about all the hopeless things she never thought about.

She thought about loneliness first, and all the people who wandered around lost from themselves. She thought about lovers, and about how the heart could beat so quickly it was sometimes painful. She thought about all the loves that failed, only halfway, but how that was enough. She thought about being forgotten by people, and how little her private tragedies meant to the world. She thought about people who lived and died for a dream, but never achieved it. She thought about the people who were afraid of growing up, and how it was that fear that meant that they were, but only in the worst ways. And then she thought about the last time she had cried, and it was because her kitten had died and she hadn't been able to say goodbye.

And then, in the corner of her eyes there was that pricking sensation you have when you're about to cry. And she thought about all the things she would never say. And finally she thought about a boy she had once loved, and how it had been the first time she had ever been in love with anyone. And she thought about how she had once had a certain smile when she thought about him, and now she couldn't remember it. And she thought about how he had left, and she had let him. And she thought about all the things that had been said, and how they were never concluded. And she thought about all the ideas and dreams that had died, and how she didn't even understand them any more. And she thought about how there were certain things that could never be undone. And she thought about how she had loved him, and how she wished she could have told him, so that he would have known that it had meant something, once.

After several long moments a tear slid down her face. It was cold and she could feel her face chill from its slow meandering path down her cheek.

 And that was all; there were no more tears after that. Because things had been sad, and they always would be a little sad. But they were also beautiful and fragile. And she couldn't help but think that it was better to be happy that they once were, than sad because now they weren't."