I haven't cried in years.

I haven't cried in years. Is that wrong?

My sadness is not that of passion.

My sadness is dull, lingering and cumbersome.

I wish I could cry.

I wish I could confront my sadness and release it.

Instead, it festers in my deepest recesses.

I fear that one day it will manifest itself.

Years and years of anguish exploding into existence, all-consuming.

I haven’t cried in years.

I haven’t cried in years. There is something wrong.