Silently Crying Novels & Stories

We all know. I am gutted and wrecked and crushed and hollow, lowkey-crying behind my eyes in the specific way where the tears never actually fall because you will not let them. I am broken and spiraling and lost and devastated and done and cooked and numb and raw and unraveled at the seams, and I am silently-screaming inside my chest, and I am grieving something I have not even lost yet, which is the worst possible kind of grief. Done-for, quietly, standing at a gala bar in a three-thousand-dollar dress with a second margarita I absolutely earned.

Lyla practically sprinted back to her room, her steps unsteady, heart pounding with emotions she couldn’t calm. The moment she slammed the door shut, her bottled-up feelings surged forward. She collapsed onto the bed, burying her face deep into the pillows, and the tears came, silent but relentless, soaking through the fabric. She cried as if she could expel all the pain and confusion that had built up over the past few days.

She asks holding her pain inside. " Don't worry. I will never be busy for you. Call me anytime and receive my calls!" " Am I allowed to call you or message you?" Tears well up in her eyes, glistening like delicate pearls, as her trembling lip has betrayed the inner turmoil she fought so hard to conceal. Her shoulders quiver with each silent sob. She gazes down, her vision blurs and a solitary tear cascades down her cheek, leaving a strain of her heartbreak. He stands frozen, his heart sinks as he observes the silent, heartbreaking sob before him. And, his eyes, widen in astonishment.

I'm in what looks like a vast empty space, with no walls or ceiling or floor that I can make out. Just endless black stretching in every direction, going on forever and ever with no end in sight. The silence is complete and oppressive, like being buried alive. No sound, no movement, no sign of life anywhere. And then I hear it. Crying. Soft, heartbroken sobbing that echoes through the darkness like it's coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. It's the sound of someone who has given up hope, who has been crying for so long they've forgotten what it feels like not to cry.

I giggled, and the next thing that happened shocked me more. Tears cascaded down his cheeks like a stormy rainfall. With each sob that escaped his lips, the weight of his anguish filled the room, suffusing the air with a palpable sense of grief. The sound of his cries echoed through the empty spaces, a haunting melody of pain and loss that reverberated in the silence. In that moment, he was not just shedding tears; he was releasing a torrent of emotions long held captive, letting the raw vulnerability of his tears speak the words his voice could not utter.

At this point, weeping was the only solution. Covering my lips so I wouldn't end up wailing, I shut my eyes, leaned my hand on the sink, whimpering in my palm. As I wept, it made my feet and knee weaker. Was I supposed to be in hard tears? Or was I supposed to cry silently? Unable to decide on what to do, I crouched beside the cupboard below the sink, tugging my stomach with my hand, still weeping in my palm. "Love hurts," I muttered silently. Silent to the point that even a cockroach beside me wouldn't hear the words I had mentioned.

The moment I stepped into my room, I closed the door quietly behind me and rested my back against it. For a few seconds, I just stood there staring at nothing. Then everything inside me gave out. I slid down onto the floor beside the bed and covered my mouth with my hand as the tears came rushing out. My shoulders trembled violently, but the room remained silent. I had learned a long time ago how to cry without making a sound. How to fall apart quietly. I buried my face against my knees while the humiliation I tried so hard to hold together downstairs crashed over me all at once.

Amy signed slowly: I want to go too. “Baby… no. Grandma’s not well. But she’ll come to see you in the evening, I promise.” Her face crumbled. And then, like she always did when overwhelmed, Amy began to cry. Not loudly not like other children. Her tears were quiet, broken only by those muffled gasps that tore through her chest. Her cries were so silent, so restrained, they made everything hurt worse. It felt like her pain had no sound because the world had never given her a voice.

Is that too much to ask? Zeke drove in silence, just as I wept in silence. I was facing the window, trying to hide my tears. I had become an expert at this; silently crying without anyone around me knowing that I was. I know how to restrain my cries and control my ragged breathing. I know how to tactically wipe my tears so no one will notice them. I don't know how many times I wiped my face, but my tears don't seem to end. Zeke was driving, his eyes and attention on the road. He never bothered to talk to me or look my way. Was he aware that I was crying? I have no idea. I hope he wasn't, and if he was, I badly wished he'd just pretend he didn't know. Just this