salt

I hate crying because crying is salt leaving your body and that stings your eyes.

Stupid eyes. I wish you wouldn't hurt.

But crying turns the irises a different color. The swollen skin around them and the reflection that comes off their glassy surface is beautiful, in a broken way.

But I don't want to be broken. I want to be fixed.

Whole. 

Unshattered and teetering on pretty, if it's not too much to ask.

Because I'm crying and I'm turning into salt.

Voices keep screaming that it was meant to happen. I see the list of reasons why, but my heart doesn't have eyes and my heart doesn't see it.

My heart can't even hear over itself. It's making too much noise. Selfish.

Shut up, heart. I hate you.

But thank you for beating. Even though I've tried to stop you before. 

I don't want to go on.

But I'm going to. Even as a pillar of salt.

And you've never seen a pillar of salt move. You've never seen one move and have life.

Watch carefully.

I'll show you.