When tears don’t ask for permission

Even in tears, art still breathes.

Some days, the soul decides to cry before I understand why.
The tears arrive unannounced,
without a name,
without an explanation that fits into words.

They fall from exhaustion,
from the absence of return,
from the weight of creating in a world that doesn’t always listen.

And I let them.
I let them wash what courage can no longer reach,
undo the knot tightened by silence.

Because maybe crying is also a way to continue —
a quiet form of resistance
when everything in me wants to give up.

Tomorrow I might stand up again.
Not out of strength,
but out of loyalty to something in me
that insists on existing.
Even tired.
Even without applause.
Even in tears.

👉 Artistic moral of the day: sometimes, creating is crying while standing.