Crying means tears. When tears are mentioned, in a way, the expression of grief, sadness, psychological or bodily damage that is felt, felt, experienced, that is, in a way, every perception that we have difficulty in expressing and that we have difficulty in expressing, the pain that is felt in the soul, comes to mind. For this, every living thing cries, even in my opinion earth cries, stone cries, water cries, mountains cries, plains weep, that is, every object weeps!
The reason for these is the fact that these objects are deprived of a language of expression, which is also the first thing that will come to mind. This is the side of these objects that drains the pain they express in common from their bodies.
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From this point of view, we may even have presented ourselves a thesis to obtain the following result! All beings come from water, nature has created everything it has created from water. In every object, the chemical components of water are present in one way or another. Maybe that's where the phrase "may you be a saint like water" comes from. Because water is existence and vitality. Crying, on the other hand, is drops of water from the eye, even when considered chemically. These drops, on the other hand, are the most sacred and true value of the essence of man, washing it with tears by carrying it to his heart.
A heart knows what storms break in the eyes, what it takes away, what has to be given up, what your soul clings to. People everywhere. With what sensitivity the childish sentences pierced into the soul as he dropped his head on his knees and cried. Only tears know this. A soul that washes away tears with that pure luminous water.
When there are so many words to be said, the tongue cannot make a single sentence, the tongue remains silent, the eyes speak, just as the hair touches the face, caresses your face lightly, what language in your soul to talk to you or chat with you, the state of your cheeks that you wipe one by one with paper handkerchiefs while your nose is running, is just a 'tear'. knows. The red cheeks from which the tears flow become square on the cheeks. Everything you don't think of will happen to you at this time. Silhouetted on the solar, human and non-reflective walls like the thirst of a basil.
The soul, like a pale and colorless house, is the warm longing of a shivering cold in a body without tears, for the sake of those who shed tears. Those pure and clean feelings, the smile in the soul, the beautiful days of love that pass through, like the days that renew themselves like the passing seasons, as the complements decrease.
Tears are the flower of a wilting soul, the luminous water that comes from itself, its feelings, love, pain, sorrow, crops, crops, grains and wealth set at the heart's table. Perhaps, while sitting and reading a book with his back to a hornbeam, it would be raindrops pouring into the void to convey the pain of a loved one who was hurt and abandoned on the pages, from the verses to the heart and then to the tears.
