high thoughts

tears

outside the rain falls and you being to hear the classic sound of water against concrete. you walk outside and see nothing but the colors of your fellow citizens. as if the world had become a painting, brush strokes compose basic shapes whose faces and hands are a smudge of paint against a two dimensional space, made up of the tiniest pigments, which work like atoms. you set aside the physics and decide to enjoy the moment rather than finding a perfect metaphor to encapsulate the artistic thoughts that are starting to override every other sense. your friends are just arriving and with no hesitation whatsoever you launch your body into theirs and hold them like you have always wished to be held.
you return to the table and let everyone order a drink before ordering yourself. the watch in your head warns you about time wasted, so you go ahead and start a vivid discussion about the best art medium, knowing no one will be able to change your mind. different opinions are brought on to the improvised panel, and the world slowly disintegrates into background noise that could never disturb the level of joy you have managed to create in a tiny table.
you take a sip of the sweet hisbiscus tea that was put in front of you; the warmth soothes a sore throat and revives a sad empty stomach. it's no secret you spent the previous night awake, sobbing away all your sorrow. your eyes betray you, so you try not to look up, maintaining your head low and direct eye contact with the scratches on the wooden table.
you laugh only to find out the fire inside you has burned out and you feel sunken again. in a hurry, you lock yourself in the bathroom and cry, to not stop until the water has gotten to your knees and you have to paddle it back to stop it from leaking out the door. obviously, the door frame allows the water to pour out and soak the nearest people's shoes and socks. you've done it again! you advise them to dry their feet as fast as possible, for your tears have been known to give third degree burns. they do so and you apologize until your voice begins to break and forgiveness is handed to you out of fear you'll expose anyone else to your burning tears. 
'i cant go through this again!' you say out loud, mostly to yourself.
the whole ambient seems to have changed for the worse, and yet, the landscape remains beautiful. the mugs all around produce little trails of smoke that dissipate once they get too close to the ceiling. eyes actively roam the room, from one side to the other, in an attempt to find the adequate behavior to replicate given the circumstances.