The last time I cried I swore to myself I wouldn’t, told myself I couldn’t
anymore. It began in my stomach, behind my belly button like a hook 
tugging at my insides. It crawled upwards, each small step vibrating my
ribcage like an earthquake. As it reached my chest it expanded, a race
with my breaths to see who would make it out first. My words tried to

climb the back of my throat but were stuck like quicksand, the more I
struggled, the faster it enveloped me. With each blink, tears pooled in
my eyelids, spilled over into the inner corners until my vision became 
a blur. Quivering lips fought back the chaos that was ready to

erupt, the storm that had brewed in the pit of my stomach. The saltwater
cascaded down my cheeks and spiraled into a typhoon as it connected
with the thunder of my wails that finally broke through. Each time it

happened I was incapacitated, unable to protect myself against the woes 
of nature, despite how many times I checked the forecast. As the downpour

halted, the skies cleared and the water sat still, seemingly untouched.