nostalgia cry.

i cried tonight, finally. the tears have been wanting to come for some time now. keep rising out of me when I cum, keep running out from my cunt. wont come out through the eyes sometimes. Tonight they came, instead of anger, tears. So often it shifts to anger and to blame; tonight it stayed in sadness. I am sad about cliché things, one could say. Could say, I just cried finally because I am pre-menstrual. Then leave it, as though any “cry” is more genuine than another, as though we weren’t always beings of hormonal im/balance. One could ignore it. I cried with nostalgia.

I cried for moments waiting in a phone booth without another dime forgetting the price had just gone up. I cried for when things moved slower. I cried for when I walked into a room and no one was looking at a screen, heads bent; for a time when they looked up at me and smiled. I cried for when things felt more joyous. I cried for when I was listening to one CD and I just came home and put the same one on again and listened to the whole thing. I cried because i miss the non glow of a book, of underlining text with a pen and writing in margins.

I cried because I could visualize all these people, collectively raising a blue thumb at each other from across a hundred thousand kilometers of rented independent workspaces, all collectively saying, yes, yes, yes, I agree with you, you are doing a great job. Cried not because I believe that the validation is superficial but rather because i believe it to be real — maybe as real as we get — and yet still we all must keep working at our desks, just to survive. Just to be there. And we almost don’t even know, anymore, what to do with the time we have, if we have it. I cried for a time that we knew more of what to say to each other. When we waited for the bus and stared. I miss staring.

I know, it is all very sentimental. I am aging. I cried because I realized there is no going back, that I can resist and push back with energy circles and sex and touching each other and we can visit the countryside and “get offline”. I believe this, I do. But still– the world is not going back—and I am part of the world. There is no going back to that old world. My cry was in fact a longing to be in the world, fully connected and fully in the world.

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