A woman and her tears are never that far apart. In fact, they have a bond as old as time itself. When people say that a woman may worry too much, they see her worry lines and not the trickle on her face that is wet to the touch.
The tears that a woman sheds are for her family, friends and country, and the best part about that is that she is always thinking of them. There are few if any people who would rather be on the other side of this equation, cause when a woman weeps, she weeps for a nation.
These tears are born in her heart, somewhere deep. Maybe she had them inside before she took the first breath. Perhaps both and perhaps all and perhaps the tears are a kind of call. I wish there were a way to count raindrops, maybe then, just then, there would be a measure to the tears that a woman sheds.
Tears are clear and salty. They are a mirror to the inside. Their saltiness shows just how much of a story they tell and the shakes and anguish and joy and sorrow they betray are plain as you dare. Show me a woman with this kind of glory, the glory of a lifetime of tears that she has shed, and i will show you the source of life itself.