I am building up a mountain of tissues in my bed to fill up all the spaces my body won’t. If only there were other things to fill that emptiness, people or books, perhaps. But alas, they have such sharp edges. My body tells me I have a cold, but maybe my eyes are watering with all the tears I haven’t let escape. Tears for happiness and sadness and understanding. Relief. I can’t cry, he told me, I’ve tried. I thought you didn’t like to, I said. I want to now. I’m so tired, it would be a relief. We’re always wanting most the things we can’t, I thought as I added to another tissue to the pile. Sniffled and smiled.