He sat on his couch, the ambient noise of a movie played in the background. The day was one of significance, one of growing grief, one ending with a blooming sadness. Like a flower his eyes released in a bout of tearful waterworks, a release, a joyous scene of sadness.
He had a friend, one he was thankful for, this person spoke to him as he wept. Their words walked with him as his tears crawled down his face. Speaking fairly and genuinely, he was reminded of the beautiful reality of his tears. They used his own words to console him, his own tone to remind him. It felt good to hear these things as he faced the sadness, this healthy sadness.
He thought about the tears streaming down his face, their significance. What were they truly, he thought to himself. It was a cocktail of their words and his, the truth, the simple truth was he was a new man. He had no walls, no anger, no animosity, he became someone else. This was the first loss he felt, a loss without the bone crushing cold of depression, or the volcanic power of mania. He was letting go of a love, a good love, a precious love. Yet, he was not letting go of love.
Love would stay, as this new man he loved everyone. Willing to love those who’d hurt him in the past. Those he’d never met and those he knew now. Life was new, things were different, he could feel with his fingers, with his lips… with his heart.