Brains are for Crying

My sardonic laugh followed my cell phone to the floor. Why had I begun a monologue about killing zombie hairdressers with hair straighteners and electric rollers? Only to stop at the silence on the other end that just screamed dead battery. And I had been the one who called.

My hands found my face, eyes already closed against the well of tears lapping against my eyelids. Long ago I determined that tears are actually brains, melted and leaking. I arrived at this conclusion about the same time that I woke up to the fact that crying is completely pointless, and the tears are the brains that have died in committing such a brainless act. Why am I crying?

Maybe I shouldn’t have watched that romantic movie. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed up with a zombie movie. Why am I such a freak? Why do I wish for someone who cares when I’m not the best candidate? Why couldn’t my best friend have been a guy? Or why can’t I be gay, since the only person who seems to understand me is another girl? Stupid questions. No answers.

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