“Your tears are not weakness — they are the saltwater of love remembering its shape.”
There may be days when the tears return out of nowhere.
A smell. A song. A sentence.
And suddenly the wave rises — and you’re soaked in memory.
Don’t run from it.
Don’t apologize.
Tears are not signs that you’re failing at grief — they are signs that you’re feeling it fully.
They are the language of what words can’t hold.
They are the body’s way of saying: *This mattered.*
Let them fall.
Let your eyes remember what your heart still knows.
There is no shame in crying for someone you loved. No timeline for the ache. No expiration on devotion.
Today, bless your tears. Each one is a drop of love that had nowhere else to go.
Sit comfortably. Place a tissue nearby, just in case. Take a few deep breaths and let your body soften. Invite your tears if they want to come. Whisper: 'My tears are sacred. My grief is real. My love is still here.'
If you cry today, do nothing to stop it. Let it be witnessed — by yourself, by the sky, by whatever feels safe. If you don’t cry, write down the last time you did, and what it helped release.
Emory D. “I used to hide when I cried. I thought I had to be 'strong.' But then one day, I let the tears fall while looking at his picture. I didn’t try to stop. I didn’t try to fix. And I felt something holy in it — like he saw me, and stayed.”
Every tear is a thread of love still woven through your life.