Originally written 11/9 for ... me. Finished today, 12/9 for you. you. you. and YOU. And hell, me still.
If you want to cry, cry. It's ok, go ahead.
I know they told you not to. That big girls don't cry. That there's no crying in baseball. But guess what? Baseball seasons over.
So if you want to cry, please do. I have a carton of Mitchell's (avocado of course), 1.7 liters of Jeremiah Weed, and a big box of Puffs with your name written all over it. Plus, I have me. And her. And him.
A wise woman once told me before that the piece of mind you're desperately searching for will return. But you already know this. And if there's anybody in the world that knows you're going to be ok - it's YOU. But for now? You can take off the cape, and throw a shirt over that S on your chest and let the world know you're only human.
So if you want to sob until you're ugly in the face, and empty in your heart - as much as it pains me to say this, go right on ahead. I know it won't solve anything, but I promise that one (or two) big cries will momentarily make you feel even just a tad bit better.
Because even though you're one of the strongest people I know - you can't carry the weight of your world on your shoulders forever. So here, lemme take a load off. Or at least, keep you company while I sit here in silence and pretend not to listen to you cry.
Cry me a river. Cry me a lake. Cry me an ocean. And I'll help you build whatever it takes to keep you afloat. So that you're no longer drowning, but playing in the water once again.