Blog Tracker
20-11-2013, 11:06
Visit the Shut up about Barclay Perkins site (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2013/11/crying-on-bus.html)
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-olqEwUnrSRw/UoxwsEzZJQI/AAAAAAAASaY/93Mwad-rCjo/s400/Warwicks_Milk_Maid_Stout.jpg (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-olqEwUnrSRw/UoxwsEzZJQI/AAAAAAAASaY/93Mwad-rCjo/s1600/Warwicks_Milk_Maid_Stout.jpg)
I barely shed a tear when my father died. Not that I wasn't upset. I was devastated. I just didn't cry as a teenager.
As the years have passed, my emotions have bubbled closer to the surface. The slightest shake and they rise and pop. Don't ask me why. If I understood that sort of shit I wouldn't be sitting at a desk typing stuff no-one will ever read.
In takes little to summon tears. A beautiful morning autumn sky and Bargain was enough at the bus stop today.
I used to worry about looking weak or girlish. Not any more. I didn't try to stop or hide the tears on the bus. Who cares what the other passengers think? I don't care about them.
I cried an ocean at my mother's funeral. Tears enough to wash both parents to heaven, nirvana; a quiet place.
Since then I care little for what others think of my tears.
My best writing is stained with tears.
More... (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2013/11/crying-on-bus.html)
http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-olqEwUnrSRw/UoxwsEzZJQI/AAAAAAAASaY/93Mwad-rCjo/s400/Warwicks_Milk_Maid_Stout.jpg (http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-olqEwUnrSRw/UoxwsEzZJQI/AAAAAAAASaY/93Mwad-rCjo/s1600/Warwicks_Milk_Maid_Stout.jpg)
I barely shed a tear when my father died. Not that I wasn't upset. I was devastated. I just didn't cry as a teenager.
As the years have passed, my emotions have bubbled closer to the surface. The slightest shake and they rise and pop. Don't ask me why. If I understood that sort of shit I wouldn't be sitting at a desk typing stuff no-one will ever read.
In takes little to summon tears. A beautiful morning autumn sky and Bargain was enough at the bus stop today.
I used to worry about looking weak or girlish. Not any more. I didn't try to stop or hide the tears on the bus. Who cares what the other passengers think? I don't care about them.
I cried an ocean at my mother's funeral. Tears enough to wash both parents to heaven, nirvana; a quiet place.
Since then I care little for what others think of my tears.
My best writing is stained with tears.
More... (http://barclayperkins.blogspot.com/2013/11/crying-on-bus.html)