Yesterday I cried for the loss of my sister. Not because a birthday is more important or I miss her more on her birthday. I simply cried.

I cried in torrents. I cried in streams. I cried with the viciousness of a hurricane and the gurgle of a brook. I cried in sobs. I sobbed in regret.

I smile-cried in memories.

Then wailed in anger.

I moaned in mourning and blubbered in pain.

I cried. I cried. I cried.

Obi’m asked what I cried for. Sincerely curious, he asked if I cried because I missed her more on her birthday or because crying me made me feel close to her. Did I feel like I needed an outward manifestation of sorrow or was crying simply cathartic?

I don’t know.

I know that some years I cry on the day of her birth.

Some months I cry when I see a long-limbed teen at once confident yet unsure.

Some days I cry when I remember a stupid joke she laughed too long at.

Some minutes I cry when I hear Oz say something so frighteningly like her.

Some moments, I cry when my heart’s motion stops at her face for a split second in a hectic day.

Sometimes, I don’t cry at all.

But when I cry, let me cry in my torrents. Let me cry in my streams. Cry with the viciousness of a hurricane and the gurgle of a brook. Let me cry my sobs and sob my regret.

Leave me to smile-cry in my memories.

“…When she shall die,
Take her and cut her out in little stars,
And she will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

-William Shakespeare | Romeo and Juliet