The other day, due to some reasons which shall remain personal (for now), I broke down and cried in the cubicle at work, tearing and sobbing; the kind which made my whole body shake and moans escape from within my throat. Sensing someone entering, I had to compose myself and make a dash to the lift; red-eyed and faking smiles and conversations throughout.

The boyfriend who fetched me could sense something was amiss and with a question, the tears and sadness overwhelmed me as I sobbed uncontrollably on his shoulder, pouring out feelings and emotions so raw that I’ve always kept within me for years. It was something I never thought I’d do as the shame was just too unbearable. True, stories have been told, but those were always accompanied by a pretended bravado. The girl sobbing like a little kid - now that, that’s the real deal still swirling inside somewhere.

For a long time we just sat there, as I poured my heart out in his arms as he consoled me and said words which could melt even the biggest of glaciers. At the end of it all, even after seeing a part of me which he has never seen before, even after I drenched him with my barrage of tears, even after I confessed a million things which I never thought I would tell anyone, all he had to say to me was;

“Bie, you look pretty when you cry. Can you cry more often?”

Which cracked me up pretty big. If that’s not love, then what is?