My Sad Left Eye

Something strange happens when I'm sad.

I tear.

How's that strange, I hear you ask?

I tear. From one eye. Just one eye. My left eye.

Now you see, when I cry, I tear too, but from both eyes. But when I'm sad, truly sad, I have tears only for one.

It starts with a warmth. Always. A comforting warmth. In my eye. My left eye. Then wet. But not so much. Just a trickle of salt and water. Just enough to well. In my eye. My left eye.

And slowly (but surely), it gets warmer, and heavier, till like an overflowing dam it breaks; and a solitary drop leaks and falls, down my cheek. It trickles, like a stream, just born yet dying at the same time, just one teary drop, leaving a warm wet trail behind.

Then as though to rebel against its demise, more warmth, more wetness, fills my eye. My left eye. And so begins the outflow of my sadness.

Catharsis.

But no comfort influxes into my soul. It's as if what humanity I am or have escapes with the stream stemming from my left eye. And all that's left is an empty void. Nothingness. Yet it comforts me.

Catharsis.