• There was a simple tale my mother used to tell me.

    There was always a prince and princess. A union between them and a happy ever after.

    I used to think my own life was like that too, but instead of princes I found frogs.

    My first boyfriend was a cheater, a liar who told me sweet nothings into my ear and snuck into my room late in the night. I gave him a bite of the special fruit I kept close to me, and he left me empty.

    I was lucky when that happened. My tears and his black ink upon my skin didn't transform into something inside me.

    My second boyfriend was a summer romance. My family and I left the country and for the whole summer stayed in a villa. He was a foreign boy, couldn't speak English at all and worked in the gardens. He gave me flowers and kissed my hand.

    Those flowers had thorns that bleed into my arms when I carried them with me on the plane.

    The blood that fell mixed into my tears as I flew over the land. But none fell on the petals of the wilting flowers I discarded.

    The third one was the worse. My parents were the ones who made us come together, how cruel they were.

    He was an ideal man upfront, but when no one looked I can still feel those huge hands grasp my neck hard while forcing me down.

    Fear and terror painted my soul when he was near. It was only when I met HIM that I finally found the true joy of crying.

    I had run away from a dinner my parents hosted with that evil boyfriend, and I ran into him. I was in terrible pain and he saw the joyless soul residing within me. He took me away, swept me far away from the pain.

    He was the prince, the knight I waited for.

    I cried my story to him. I don't know how many feelings I sobbed out with those tears of mine.

    Tears of regret.

    Tears of bitterness.

    Tears of anger.

    Tears of sorrow.

    So many dark tears filling up his room on that dark night I ran away from my prison which nearly flooded his home.

    Taking my hands in mine he whispered to me,

    "You are not tainted. These tears you cry out cleanse your soul. They do not make you weak nor make you feel dirty. These tears are those tormentors, those evil men who failed to see you. Cry, it's alright. I shall hold you close and protect you."

    I finally cried out tears of joy.

    Joy that HE was there with me. HE loved me, HE was the father of the child that could have came to be with those evil men.

    I swear on my life....

    This child made of my tears of joy and his gentle hands of love, will have a life surrounded by joy and love.