Crying

Ben saved up his sobs and spent them on a big bawl. No use crying over small things, he thought. Years of tears from banged shins and extended family deaths dripped behind his eyes like water from a loose tap, the levels rising up into his throat until he could taste the pain. "I'm not only crying about you," he said to his wife Jill as she told him they were over. "Les Miserables was so fucking sad! And my cat died last year!"The bedroom was flooded by this point and Ben began to swim in his own tears. He had never been to the ocean and realized that this salty duct-water might be his only chance. This only made him cry more, and propelled by the convulsions in his chest Ben swam for hours. When he had finished crying he sucked up his tears with a sub-pump. He was parched of feeling once again and ready to store up for the annual winter wail.