Loud Footsteps.

Hide them, somewhere close though so I can still find them. I'll keep them here, in a little plastic jar, and when I need to use them again I'll simply unscrew the lid and drop them one by one into my eyes. I'll let them roll around and find their place and then open the floodgates to feel something like emotion again. Streams run down my face and gravity allows them to slip away, falling faster toward the ground and before I can catch them they've already become a part of the pavement. But something's really wrong here, this feeling is so foreign. I'm rapidly losing moisture from my eyes but I can't call this crying, it's more like something in between breathing and dry heaving.. it sort of feels a little like dying. Twenty-four hours later I wake up in the psychiatric ward of an underground hospital with no windows and no doors, wondering how the hell I got here and why didn't anybody think to remember to bring my jar of tears?