---

I've been thinking a lot about tears. No, this isn't any one person's doing... I wish it was, it would simplify things. But no, several people have gotten my mind on this topic. Admittedly, only one of them was actually crying at the time, but the others... tears seem to fit them, somehow. The thoughts share space, these names, my tears, theirs.

I'm not going to use any names. Pronoun Day, kiddies... and see if you recognize yourself in any of these. Goddess knows I've enough tear-related memories to pull in half the universe if I really try. I don't intend to, though. This is for my own peace of mind more than anything else - it's nearly 9:30 in the morning and I've only had a few hours of sleep. Writing seems useful.

Anyway, onward and upward!

---

Have a story fragment - work in progress. Not pretty. At all. But hey... it amused me:

You look so betrayed, your eyes are getting wet, are you going to cry for me? Go ahead, howl all you want behind the rubber and leather, you know it does you no good to scream with a cockgag in your mouth. But it does amuse me, so keep going, boy. What, now you're trying to hold back? Maybe if I pull out a bit and just SHOVE this in... ah, much better. Now you're sobbing nicely, your tears are running down your cheeks. I just love seeing you like this, boy. Bound and gagged and crying for me.

"I wonder..." is one of my favorite phrases, isn't it? I use it so often, debating what to do to you, how to hurt you next, whether to be cruel or kind... and yes, usually I choose to be cruel. I say it just to get a reaction from you, you know. I watch your eyes, see if they widen enough, if the little involuntary whimper is loud enough. If it is... I've no need to hurt you as bad, then. I'm already getting what I want. It's only when you hide your face... like that, you little rascal, look back over here. I expect to see your eyes when I'm fucking you, and you know it. Much better. I believe you are indeed crying. You hate being left out, even if it's just left out of a one-sided conversation that couldn't help you anyway.

---

I never said it was pretty or pleasant... then again, maybe I did. It depends on my mood. *shrug* Part of me is feeling all angsty and introspective, wanting to analyze why I hate my own tears but love seeing others' tears. Part of me is just depressed, wants to watch someone cry, or even cry myself, just to get that feeling over and done with. Part of me is aroused - dacryphilia? I think that's the name - arousal because of tears, there's a special term for it even. And I can't have sex for another week, can't even play with myself, not that I'd want to with a kidney stone, it'd HURT. At this point, even being turned on hurts. It's very unfair.

I really am turned on by tears, you know. There is something about them... some girls like diamonds. Some girls go for roses. I'd rather have tears. No, physically they don't last as long. No, you can't wear them, can't put them in a vase... well, actually, you COULD, but would you? Still, they are meaningful. Anyone can pick roses or buy roses. Anyone with enough money can get diamonds. Tears are unique, only ONE person can give their own tears. It's like having someone give you a cross between their heart and their thumbprint... ok, that wasn't the most romantic description I've ever come up with but hey, I'm waiting for vicodin to kick in, have a bit of patience with me.

If you want to get me wet, if you want me honestly aching for you, if you want me at the point where I can't decide whether to claw you to pieces, fuck you senseless, or just hold you close and make it all ok... cry for me. Not just watery eyes, but honest tears, for honest reasons. Pleasure, enough of it that you cry because it's so good. Pain, enough of it that you cry because it hurts so much. Emotions... ah, those are the best tears, the ones from inside, not from some external sensation. The ones that mean a thousand things, new each time, perfect, wonderful.

Those are the tears I would sell my soul for.

---

Written while I was crying:

this is the sound
a heart makes
when it finally ceases to beat
when all other noises stop
when the last pulse fades
this is the single word
a child knows
before speech
before language
before any other voice speaks
this is the only color
left when the world ends
no other shades
no other hues
no other brilliant glow
this is all that remains
when life crashes
and the universe overloads
short circuit
disconnected
system shock

this is me

---

One of these days I need to figure out the chemical componants of tears. I want to know what they are, on a purely physical level.

Then I want to save that information in a text file, along with the words, "Tears are little pieces of your heart that have had all the feeling drawn out, all the warmth removed, and are left pale and cold... when you cry, you make room for your heart to grow back what it has lost."

---

I have 85 letters from Kadin saved. Emails, rather... I've gotten to the point where I do not always differentiate between emails and hard copy letters. I think this is a bad sign, but I'm not sure what it's a sign of. However, I do know I still cry when I read Alex' poems... when I read over a few of the emails Kadin wrote me... and sometimes, when I dream of either of them. I have woken up with my pillow damp and my eyes full of tears, wondering where all of my boys are, not just those two. Yes, names... but Kadin's name isn't even his. *wry grin* It has been changed before, and could be changed again.

There's two other people that it could be argued similarly for... but one of them I can just call my SO, and one of them I'm not sure I can call anything but (hopefully) friend... and maybe someday, something that matters even more. Something that I can't do without.

Names are one of those things I can cry over. I remember how much it hurt to loose mine.

---

Pillow

�I want to hear you scream�
she says
�I want to make you beg�
and she turns you over
�I want you to cry my name�
she watches you closely
�I want to leave you sobbing�
and she pulls back her hand
�I want you to moan your fear�
she raises her arm
�and your pain�
she says
she strikes
she stops
and the pillow you were biting
is roughly pulled away
�I want to hear you�
she says
and soon you scream for her
she smiles
she always gets her way

---

This is the part where I write about my own tears, right? The thing where I rant self-indulgently about my past, the ghosts, the pain, all of it. Explain why I hate to cry. Explain what I used to cry about. Maybe tell you what it felt like.

Forget it.

This is why I understand: even here, I can't say some things. Even here, it still feels... wrong... to cry.

---

Someone is coming home. I haven't seen him in a long, long time... he's been in the Army. This was NOT my doing, nor was it my fault in any way. I miss him a lot, have missed him a lot. I think I feel overly-posessive regarding him, too - this is based on the fact that when I heard he was getting more pussy than push-ups, I actually got pissed. Not jealous, not envious, but pure and simple pissed. I need to stop thinking of him as a potential pet, is what I need to do... admittedly, he really would make a beautiful one, enough so that (here's the tie-in, folks) when I think of him as a slave, as a pet, it often brings me to tears, just picturing it. A couple of my stories are based on him in a way. He was the original rebellious capture, in my writings... and he'll be coming back. It's a shame, really. I know I'm going to end up wanting him again/still... and I know he'll be perfectly lousy for me.

At least he'll get along with Kadin, I have that to be thankful for. And he already gets along with my SO, another point in his favor. He'll have sympathy for someone else, who is also going into the army... and I know a few people who will find him attractive. It works out.

I remember once holding a rose he gave me... which is an odd memory because it was in a chatroom, not irl. IRL, I remember throwing rocks at his window until he let me in... watching him play Metal Gear Solid in Ellensburg... flirting with him rather half-heartedly, knowing I couldn't have him as a Dom and that I couldn't have him as a sub... wishing I wasn't attracted to him... wishing he WAS attracted to me... and crying, because someone else I cared about hated him. I wanted to protect him. *shrug* I'm still an idiot... now you know that I was an idiot Way Back When, too.

---

I think I'm going to end this for the moment. It's a little bit past 10:00 AM... if I think of more to add, I will do so, and adjust the time accordingly. This entry might be the only one for a couple days... but it might change quite a bit during those days. *shrug* It all depends on my mood...

...but then, doesn't everything? I DO still rule the world, right? *grin*