I wish I was one of your tears, so I could be born

After creeping its way down the length of her lovely face it met its end
on her lips, but its legacy lived on, for it was the destiny of the
tear, unbeknownst to the tear itself, to express in clear and simple
terms the complicated workings of its creator’s heart. It was unable
to fail. No tear ever has. Whenever a tear is conceived anywhere, at
any time, it will always be the singularly simplest, most powerful,
most accurate, and most complete representation of emotion. One must
envy a tear for this truth, but also for the nature of its life. For a
tear, in its preciously short life span, is able to experience the most
beautiful elements of a woman’s being. Her heart. Her eyes. The soft
skin of her lovely face. And her lips. So you see even in death, the
tear departs with a fitting farewell from its beautiful creator. It
departs with a kiss.