Unseen Tears

Allowing my eyes to shed beads of tears is like consenting my soul an aperture from misery. I don’t usually see the hands that dry my cheeks… I just noticed that my spirit is already lightened and my chin is finally lifted.

As usual, my regular check-up this morning left me utterly spent. You know, even if you’re made of steel when ordeals continue to block your way you can’t help but to ask, is there an end in sight?

The answer remains ambiguous. I have been beleaguered with this silent scourge for almost a year now. My spirit has been battered, my steps staggered but I’m continuously fighting. Isn’t it what life is all about? A continuous battle…

Yesterday seems an eon ago. The playful bantering of words with my nieces and the beguiling sceneries seem so far while I was talking with my doctor that my heart has been filled with the same barrenness.

I truly hate feeling that way.

As soon as I arrived home, I retreated in silence in the room and when my body touched the comfort of the bed I allowed myself healing with the flood of tears. Before I knew it, I was lulled in a deep slumber…

I slept for so long that when I finally woke up my cheeks were already dry with tears. The bleakness in my heart was alternated with overwhelming exuberance. I look forward to my future with the same zeal and fervor.

I won’t deny the truth that there are some unseen tears in my spirit. Those were the kinds that might not be relieved by sheer shedding alone. But then, as long as the will of the spirit inhabits, they don’t matter at all.

I weep with my tears but I live with my soul…each second matters…every moment I treasure…

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