I keep trying to explain what it’s like to watch someone cry. And yet I fail.

I keep trying to explain the sudden overload of emotions I’m bombarded with whenever someone’s tears involuntarily slides down their cheeks, reminding me that I might know that feeling. That I can find it somewhere inside me, and that it can physically hurt even when I’m not the one in pain. It reminds me that my body carries a river in there, that’s not just meant to bring life into all those spots I’ve chosen to abandon over the years, but one that has the capacity to wash away other people’s wounds – or even just attempt to.

I keep trying to explain the echo I get to hear somewhere very close to my heart, that somehow sends over its waves even closer to my eyes, and the next thing I know is, I’m uncontrollably sobbing, too.

Because I happened to watch someone cry, and I failed to explain how their tears ended up landing on my face.