Little Wellsprings.

I am a little fountain these days, salt water pouring out of my eyes, enough to nourish a plant. Drop of a hat, drop of a pin, drop of a sugar bowl from my tea-counter onto the floor, where the lid shattered into three pieces, sweet white sugar bleeding out onto the floor. The tears are welcome, as they've been absent for so long, but now, it's like little tsunamis, hotsprings, wellsprings, downpours, in my eyes. Crying on a bus, in a bookstore, in a bathtub, while watching television, while reading. Tears are a strange phenomenon.