I remember when I was younger, I would often steal away to my own little room, my own little nook in the world, and just let it all out.  It always felt really good to hug my pillow, or my favorite doll, and just sob and sob and sob.  A four hankie afternoon, I used to call them.

Then, as I entered my forties, I lost the ability to cry.  It was almost like I became too jaded, too cynical, and crying just seemed futile.  I don't even know that I could physically pull it off anymore.

I miss that in my life.  My ability to cry.  Some people think a grown man shouldn't cry.  But I think the only real men do cry.  If only I had someone's shoulder to cry on.