I know myself best when I’m crying. I’m most familiar to myself. Warm water draws splinters to the surface. Oily tears pull heat from my eyes. My face should be chapped all the time. Blue circles under my eyes make sense. Veins shred into purple hairs. My breath catches but it’s always caught so it’s no bother. Rocking myself prostrate at the waist and digging the heels of my hands into my eyes is not a thing. I’ve been studying the different faces of crying for more than my whole life.