Tear Filled Eyes Novels & Stories

For the first time in years I didn’t reach for another mask to cover it. Hot, fast and humiliating tears came rushing down my cheeks. They tracked down the good side of my face and dripped onto the mask in my lap. I swiped at them with the back of my hand but more followed. My shoulders shook as a sound clawed its way out of my chest, it was not a growl, and not a snarl, just a low broken keening that rose and fell like something dying. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eye sockets and tried to force the tears back inside where they belonged. They wouldn’t stay.

I took my attention away from them to face my girlfriend, her face was pale, that’s the Ac I guess? Her eyes were dull, couldn’t find the flickering light in her eyes whenever I look at them. I felt a stink in my heart. “I pulled her close to my body, inhaling her scent, she squeezed me tightly and my heart snakes deep in my chest. I felt her warm tears on my shirt, I tried to fight mine, but it was too late as the warm liquid flowed down freely along cheeks, what a beautiful to cry I thought to myself, cause I’m starting to think I’ve got no more tears to shed, but here I am.

Mom didn't say further before leaving, she maybe felt the tension that was filling this room. Caroline's eyes refused to look away from me, even as her lips trembled and her shoulders heaved with emotion, unwilling to back down. Her dark lashes brimmed heavy with tears; her hands clenched into shaking fists, in a desperate battle against the grief. A lone tear traced down her cheek, and just like that, the floodgates opened. She wept, tears streaming from her deep ocean eyes, heaving sobs tearing from her throat, and still, she did not look away.

The shadows they cast mirrored the depth of her fatigue, serving as a constant reminder of the nights spent silently weeping or struggling to find solace in restless dreams. Rose's once bright and vibrant eyes now drooped lazily, lacking their usual sparkle and verve. They seemed heavy, burdened by the weight of unshed tears and unspoken worries. Their luster had dimmed, like a flickering flame desperately clinging to its last embers. Each blink appeared slow and deliberate, as if summoning the strength to stay open was an arduous task in itself.

In that moment, I knew that my fate hung in the balance, and the choice I had made would shape the path ahead. As the tear rolled down my cheek, its shimmering presence illuminated by the soft, dim light of the room, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the sacrifices I was willing to make. It was a tear that spoke volumes, a testament to the lengths I was prepared to go with my plea, hanging in the air like a fragile thread, echoed through the silence.

Tears overflowed my heated eyes again. He tensed, “Oh, no. Are you crying again?” worry laced his tone. I buried my face further on his chest, my tears soaking his shirt. He patted my back, “It breaks my heart to hear you cry. It feels like I’m getting burnt alive. Stop, please.” He pleaded, ripping my torn heart even further.

He smiled showing a full set of his teeth. “Why?” My voice breaks, the hurt coming to the surface as tears cloud my tear duct threatening to spill. “Stop crying when you hurt, I hurt too.” His fingers caged the tear from my tear lid. “I hurt without you and hurt more when you tear up. Don’t cry because I’ll burn this world into ashes, a sullen mud of pitiable debris if one more tear slid down these pretty blue eyes of yours.”

I asked softly, my voice filled with genuine concern and a hint of fear. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, each beat echoing the urgency of my question. She took a shaky breath, her tears still flowing but now more controlled, allowing her to speak. The sound of her breathing, ragged and uneven, filled the silence between us, each exhale a whispered confession of her pain. “Why am I crying?” Mom raised her tear-streaked eyes to meet mine, her gaze heavy with sorrow and frustration. Her eyes, usually so vibrant and full of life, now looked dull and tired, as if they carried the weight of countless sleepless nights. The lines on her face, deepened by worry and heartache, told a story

"Love is painful but still people are bound to fall in it and enjoys every phase of it." In the recesses of her eyes, a tempest brewed, betraying the storm raging within. The once-sparkling orbs, now veiled in a gossamer film of unshed tears, echoed the profound sorrow that lingered in the corners of her soul. The pupils, once vibrant and alive, were now like deep pools of solitude, reflecting the shadows of heartache that danced in the dimming light. Every blink seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken words, each tear threatening to spill over and trace the contours of a story etched in the silent language of her gaze. The windows to her soul spoke volumes, revealing a narrative o

She forgot to take measures to prevent tearing her eyes, raised her head and said: "Miss, can you help me wipe my tears with a tissue." Then a strong arm reached out, cupped her face, raised it, dried her tears, Anne Jenner opened her eyes with tears, facing a pair of eyes hidden with emotion, her hand covering her eyes, said, : "Seeing you cry, I can't stand it." Like that day watching "Happy time".