And it was emotional and joyous and heartbreaking and wonderful, and all of the feelings swelled up inside me, but I couldn't cry. I didn't. I teared up a little during the Chaveleh dance, but that was it. Even then, I had to force it.
I pretended to cry the whole night.
Don't get me wrong, I felt like crying. Practically the whole night I felt the ache of almost-tears in my chest. But each time, it was for different reasons, and none of them ever came out.
But on the way to IHOP, in the car with the four people I'd been riding home with every day, as we belted Phillip Phillips with the windows down and even the boys shed a few manly tears, I tilted my head back and closed my eyes and...
... didn't cry.
I was happy.
Even though people were moving away and the year was ending and the show was over and there were a million things in my life I could have cried over by simply thumbing through a mental file cabinet of worries and plucking one out, I was content. I felt fulfilled and whole and satisfied with where I was just at that moment.
And where was I?
I was in a car with four friends, and we were all together, laughing and crying and singing and happy to be together.
And for the moment, that was enough.
Don't pay no mind to the demons
that fill you with fear...
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