all things must pass » the beatles, queen and the backstreet boys

29- Ringo Starr

For once in my life, I let the tears trace trails down my cheeks, allowing the walls I've so carefully constructed brick by brick to temporarily come tumbling down as I soundlessly cried.

The room was dark; bright enough so I could barely make out the silhouettes of the minimal furniture and avoid bumping into them, but dark enough so I couldn't see anything but the outline of my body. The silence I was bathed in ensured that stillness blanketed the entire room.

Perhaps what was so pitiful about my crouch against the side of the bed was the fact that my harrowing sorrow came out completely silently. Not a single sob, moan, whimper, or cry escaped my lips as my eyes watered over and over again, tears coming like a never-ending flood.

It wasn't that I was a helpless fools that dropped her miseries on everyone's head. In fact, it usually was the other way around. But for once, the murky feelings that stormed in my heart threatened to burst right out of my chest, and I could do nothing but let myself take rattling breaths as I cried quietly.

Shrouded in darkness, I curled myself up into a ball as though I were 8 again; as though the fetal position I was in could protect me from the heartache that swirled inside the little bubble I'd formed for myself around me. The tormenting thoughts seemed like the tide, coming with the ebb of chaos and going with the flow of tears.

Indescribably distraught. I didn't know how else to describe my position; no words could possibly tell of my pain. It was long-awaited suffering that crashed into me like a freight train.

A jingle of keys came, followed by a slam, and pattering footsteps.

"You alright, love?" Ringo's deep voice quietly asked from behind me, amidst the dangerous concoction of chaos and peace.

There was no use in lying to my beautiful blue-eyed wonder. Shaking my head 'no', I couldn't bring myself to turn around and face him, even if I wouldn't be able to see him much in the blankets of noir we were covered in.

He sighed, shuffling around a bit as he plopped down beside me on the floor. It couldn't have been too comfortable. Still, his soft smile was the only traceable thing in this blackness, the only light that illuminated the room.

"It's ok not to be ok," his voice was soft as his rough yet gentle palm squeezed my shoulder, letting me rest my heavy head on his shoulder---and I instantly felt as though a teeny tiny weight had been removed from my load.

Exhaling and inhaling was all I could focus on. The pattern of my breathing. I held back a shudder as I finally stopped crying, with my boyfriend's hand gently brushing against my arm, comforting and serene.

As we huddled together, his voice hummed a merry little tune, sweet in the way he didn't have to raise his voice or say much to prove that he was always my column of support---mentally and physically.

The very thought comforted me enough to close my eyes; though the darkness I was met with didn't differ much from the darkness we sat in, or that swallowing my conscious---the only significant difference was that this was filled with the sound of his heartbeat, easing me to sleep subconsciously, as I already was left absolutely drained.

"Just know that I'm always here, and you'll never suffer alone, love."

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