On a whim…

Sometimes the tears that come while writing aren’t grief at all, but love finding its way to the surface.

When the Tears Come

Every so often, while rereading a passage I’ve just written, I find myself suddenly and unexpectedly weeping. The pressure behind my eyes, the burn in my throat, even the ache in the roof of my mouth — it all gathers and releases at once.

I’ve learned not to resist it. These are good tears. They are proof that the story is still alive in me — the same story I carried for decades in silence, now finally being allowed to breathe again.

To weep while writing is not to observe grief from a distance; it is to live in a state of love. The emotion rises, moves through me, and then quiets. When it does, I can keep going — not because the pain is gone, but because the love remains.

I believe that’s what any honest book asks of its author: not detachment, but presence. To feel it all. To let the tears bear witness that what’s being written is still alive, still human.

And when the page is dry again, I know the story I’m telling isn’t meant for me alone. It’s for anyone who has known love, or longs to know it — anyone who has embraced, or endured, its loss.

— D.W.