Sweet Sorrows

How warm it felt in your embraces, sweet sorrows of the past. Like fat, and other things heavy, you lay me down with ease and a reassurance that you would always be there for me. For as long as I wanted, you lay me flat with this sweet lie. Oh, how I turned to each of you, sweet sorrows of the past, on late nights such as these, eyes filled with our memories, hoping to turn tears into morning dew and cultivate a hopeless future together. Modestly I would ask: Might we collect my tears to water the earth beneath us and create a garden for you and I to bask in? Would you cry along with me? Would you help water our garden?

Yes, I would visit each of you, on late nights such as these, hoping to fill your eyes with my tears. Why, your eyes to my demise were empty, bone dry, had no tears of your own for me; wouldn't you be so kind as to use mine? But each of you, sorrows of the past, for me had the same reply, logical and unequivocal: Watering a garden with naked tears would only salt the earth. Try, try again, each time again with rose water.

I've built the garden, on my own. On my knees covered in wet despair I planted my own seeds of joy. Lo and behold, I think this year I will have a chance to witness the perfect blossom. You see, rose water turns into sweat, and both sweat and tears are purified under the hot sun of hard work and genuine spirit. I've bottled my tears and I have plans to produce much sweat this year, oh how there is much work to be done. And when the sun has touched all that I am for just long enough, I will water the soil beneath my feet and each of you will come to know the beauty of my seeds. So, I thank each of you, sweet sorrows of the past, for letting me hold on to my own tears. I can only thank myself and my closest friends for knowing what to do with them. I wish for each of you only good things, sweet sorrows of the past, because I would never want to leave you on a negative note. Good bye.

Happy New Year!