The Girl Who's Tears Fell Up

eriences as seasons, and I would describe my childhood as the season of the loss of innocence. I was a happy child, I had everything I needed. My parents were married and loved each other very muc

soft, and I would hardly see a smile ever fade of her beautiful face. She did not look like tears could burn her blush pink cheeks. I do not think anyone is

man could have. It was a spring morning; I was getting ready for school and my parents were fighting in the bathroom, once again I chose to not ask questions and let it play out in front of me. This one felt different, it felt final. The look that my father gave my mother was one of disgust. He had never looked at her like that for as long as I could remember. You would always see it in his eyes when he looked at her, the admiration, the love, the lust, the appreciation, all through the lens of the man that loved his woman. That was

that some boys stole my bicycle and that he promised to bring it back. I cried the entire day, I thought that was the worst pain one could feel, something I cherished so much was taken away from me, little did I know that my bicycle was a catalyst for everything else that was to follow in my life. Later that day my father walked in, he was speaking but his voice was accompanied by chained rattling and hi