The only time I feel alive

Is when I'm crying.

I'm crying for the number of hours I've wasted crying.
I'm crying for granting despair and desperation to take over.
I'm crying for having made others done the same.
I'm crying for the love lost, found and lost again.
I'm crying for allowing myself to feel small and inadequate.
I'm crying for the sake of doing so.
I'm crying for the need to let go.
I'm crying for every second closer to home.
I'm crying for each day spent happier away from home.
I'm crying for the elation of belongingness.
I'm crying for the desire to let them flow.
I'm crying for inspiration of how things drove.
I'm crying for the stuff which never fill the void.
I'm crying for friendship turned sour and spoiled.
I'm crying for the ways that no one will see.
I'm crying for uncontrollable laughters.
I'm crying for the tinge of sadness that often accompanies them.


p.s: Just found this post in my draft and I totally forgot when I wrote it. All I remember was standing inside the train on the morning commute, feeling like I didn't belong.