Crying Hearts Novels & Stories

It really hurts so much… I don’t like this pain… Mommy… Please make this pain go away… What did I do wrong? I am sorry… I just want you to like me… Please stop being mean to me…. It hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts… My heart hurts…

He was too numb to tell his mind to think of something — a giant hole quickly found a permanent home in his heart. "Why…? Why should it be…him?" David cried out loud, his voice breaking with emotions that left poisonous marks on his heart muscles. To be quite frank, no one should be able to cry that hard and there was David who did just that — crying his lungs out — crying his heart out — crying his eyes out.

"The heart of the crying is there." They followed her lead, moving past the listless villagers to the village square. In the center was a stone well, ancient and covered in slick, black moss. But it wasn't a well for drawing water. The stones of the well itself were weeping. Slow, constant tears of water seeped from between the cracks, pooling around the base and feeding the ever-present mud. This was the source. The Heartspring of Oakhaven was not a source of life, but of sorrow.

🦋 NIKITA 🦋 Crying became an anthem and fear became a close friend, I still sat in one corner, fighting a battle between my mental health and physical health. A memory of Reyna being killed by Benita flashed through my mind again, and I buried my head deeper between my laps, trembling. I felt as if I was hit by a tidal wave, my emotions crashing down on me like an unrelenting storm. Tears streamed down my face, hot and bitter, as I wept uncontrollably.

My heart is beating fast, I'm scared. I just want to run to the battlefield and check on Adrian. I'm tired of that feeling in my heart, something I cannot describe. It is a feeling that makes me overthink, a feeling that exhausts my mind and steals my energy away from me; it's a wave of worry and a tornado of stress. It seems that my eyes forgot how it feels to be dry because they are always filled with tears; I'm drowning in my rivers of tears. My heart is screaming in agony and my head is throbbing. I can't take it, I just can't. What do I call this feeling? It exceeds the normal pain. I think all words in the English language are not sufficient enough to describe what I'm going through.

They say sadness is behind anger, yet anger never comes unless in direct self defence, and so perhaps I can credit this natural passivity with my willingness to cry and feel pain, to let the sorrow teach me more about my true nature and how fragile we humans are. It is only natural to cry when we feel cold. Look up to the clouds, Jethro, they do it too. When they feel cold the water molecules lose energy and condense into droplets. Don't those droplets water the land? Don't they bring us healthy plants and food? Crying, my boy, is the same. It puts you in touch with all the goodness inside of you. That is why God loves the sound of a broken heart. He would have spared you the pain if He coul

The sound of crying was the worst sound in the world. The wails of sorrow and loss made my eyes tear up and my heart to squeeze. When I heard Mason brake down in front of me in his drunken state I thought my heart broke. But as I heard the cries of the women and children who lost their mates and fathers, my heart shattered.

My screams grow louder, filling the silence, as my heart pounds ferociously in my chest. My throat burns from the tears and the raw screams that escape me, and in that moment, I realize I have more tears inside me than words to express my pain. So, I cry. I cry until my eyes feel heavy and no more tears can flow. I’m not just crying for Richie; I’m crying for myself, for my dad, and for every single thing that has been weighing heavily on my heart. Each sob feels like a release, an acknowledgment of the struggles I’ve been facing, and I allow myself to feel every bit of it.

She cried and cried and cried. |||||______|||||______|||||______