He is my reason to cry for the third time. 

My first tears were spilled over my passing cat, a feline I had personally chosen at the shelter at the age of four and raised until the age of seven. Midnight--my pure black cat--was already with age when I had adopted her and soon, her well-aquaintance with age introduced her to the unfriendly aquaintance of death. Crying at my makeshift funeral, burying her underneath the cedar tree in the backyard, I could only remember my parents comforting me with promises of a new feline--which I profusely denied--and that at least she had died peacefully in her sleep.

The second time I cried it was when I was nine. My family's business wasn't doing well and with the constant financial pressures of my fellow aunts and uncles--the stock market was crashing I understood when I had grown up--all they did was argue. I stayed out of their way, avoiding the spotlight of their verbal attacks until a month later, I couldn't take it anymore. I had shouted, prayed, that we would get along, all the while, crying tears of regret and sorrow. As I hadn't easily cried even as a baby, my parents immediately comforted me and never again did they blame each other. They worked together and things only got better. 

The third reason for my sadness was the tale of his parents' death. He had played it off as a joke at first, completely taken back and slightly awkward, but he had pushed it aside, completely unsure as to how to react. Finally, he wiped away my tears and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close, before whispering a soft thanks against my hair.

But he is so oblivious he doesn't understand why.

He had whispered that it was okay. He comforted that he had accepted it. He never stopped muttering things against my hair, waiting for my tears to end. 

However, they didn't and even if he didn't understand why, they did. Because I cried for the tears he couldn't, for the fears, sorrows, anger, jealousy, and hardships he faced because of it. For my only best friend, my first love, my second boyfriend, I cried, sobbing even though I hated crying and tears of sadness.

Even if he didn't understand why I cried.

But only to me is it something worth crying over.

Because this was for him. For the words he didn't say. For the event that though was okay, didn't sit well with him. For the event that he had accepted, but never gotten over. For the event that he had so much to say about but couldn't say a word for. 

So I just cried, letting my tears soak his shirt. When they had finally dried, he pulled away slowly, brushed a hair behind my ear, and began talking again as if nothing had happened. I had cried so that his burden could be lifted.

And proudly, I could say he sounded that way.

He was my reason to cry for the third time.
But he was so oblivious he didn't understand why.
But only to me was it something worth crying over.

...xXx...

She is my third piece of happiness.

My first piece of happiness was my parents--my aunt and uncle. They had taken me in despite already having two in college and one with a full-time job. They had picked me up when I was broken and tended to me. They had saved me and worked with me even though that age was slowly claiming their energy and health.

My second piece of happiness was the move. My terrible experiences in school and the haunting memories of my birth parents floated around me constantly and moving to the new house, that crisp new home, had given me a sense of a new beginning, away from the sorrow and sadness. As soon as my eyes had seen the new home, I had known that happiness would soon befall me.

My third piece of happiness was her, my only love, my first friend, my second laughter, and now my third happiness. When had it began I couldn't help but wonder? When? Why? How? Where? But none of these questions had an answer. Perhaps it was as soon as I laid eyes on her and knew she was the one for me or perhaps it was when I had first smiled or laughed with her. But all I knew was that she was soon part of collection of happiness.

But she is so innocent she isn't allowed to know.

However, the tainted side of me, the dirty side with my anger, my fear, my jealousy, my sorrow, I hid. She had to know only my good side for it felt as if that was the only way I could stay by her and as if it were the only way she could stay undirtied.

She had to stay clean, a pure white that would stay untouched. She had to stay innocent and happy.

She had to stay untainted, without prejudice or anger or any of the other evils that were inside of me. She had to stay without dirt.

But only to me is it wishful thinking.

However, I soon realized that she had known. At first, it seemed as if she had turned away from my tainted side on purpose, avoiding it like the plague it was.

As time passed, I found myself relieved but worried all at once. She had avoided my evil side on purpose, as if she had read my mind, which I could believe she did, which I forced myself to believe. But another doubt crawled, winding itself like a parasite into that belief. What if she had been disgusted? Completely appalled? So she had turned away?

However, as if sensing my distress, she easily calmed my thought process down and I knew that she had known. Why? Where? How? When? I could not answer these questions here either, like I could not as to when she became my third piece of happiness, but I soon understood that she had always known. That she had simply been waiting, for me to bring it up and to overcome it. For she was thinking of me, of my health, my well-being, and my world, she had waited. And that meant the world.

She was my third piece of happiness. 
But she was so innocent she wasn't allowed to know.
But only to me was it wishful thinking.