I used to...

I used to be braver. I never cried at movie endings, funerals, sappy prime time TV, the apprehension of life going awry that creeps ups the moment it feels perfect.

At that was a thing I secretly prided in myself. Only intense emotion would bring tears to my very (literally) dry eyes. I had some medical condition that affected my tear ducts. I never saw it coming. This battering that life can mete out. That pride definitely does not foresee.

When I first met the man I was in love with, he used to find this wall around me daunting, even unhealthy. And he used to create these tiny cracks in that fortification, sometimes to make me feel my true emotions, sometimes without realising that his actions were pulling the wall away.

Now. The wall is crumbling for sure and without anyone plugging in the holes.

That really says something. No one can ever stop your fortress from falling apart. All those feminist manifestos, all those cheesy self help books did get that one right. People come and go, trying to pry their way into you, wanting to see your weaknesses, so that they can connect, forge a bond by either sharing them or trying to fix them. And in reality, no matter who you let in, or who you bolt out, these walls can only be mended by you.

And he was right, that man, I did need some cracks in my walls. There was so much I did not let through. Though he never expected the levies to break forth with such a rush! Then again, most men never understand the true extent of what they desire or the consequences.