I fill the familiar pricks of tears around my eyes. Blinking a few times, I foolishly believe that it will relieve the situation.
It doesn’t.
My eyes are watering more, and the only solution is closing the book, taking my eyes off the offending words that are responsible.
Books don’t often make me cry. I get teary-eyed, sure, but I don’t cry. Because as soon as the tears come, I avoid. I sit the book down, and I wait for the sensation to subside.
If I have to do it ten or twenty times just to make it through a page, it doesn’t stop me. This time I recover quickly. I pick the book back up eager to see what happens next. Not stopping to think about how I have to avoid even in my escape.
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