Sometimes she thinks she’s strong, sometimes she thinks she’s gone, past the point of feelin’ anything at all. Sometimes she’s sure she’s crazy, sometimes she feels like maybe the only way to survive is to stay angry. And that works fine most of the time, but some things make her cry. Like Bruce Springsteen, silver Sebrings, eggs scrambled hard, home-made birthday cards. A gray sweatshirt over faded jeans, with a hole in the pocket where a wallet’s supposed to be. Blue sheets on an unmade bed, strong shoulders with a summer tan and rain in the headlights. Yeah, some things make her cry. She didn’t shed a tear when he left her here, November 21st of last year. She said she’d be just fine, but maybe she lied, cause some things make her cry. Like drive-in movies, oatmeal cookies. 49’ers, all night diners. Blue eyes under a red ball cap. Wakin’ up alone at 3AM. Icy streets, New Year’s Eve. Fallin’ asleep on a brown love seat. And Runway lights. Yeah, some things make me cry.