“My voice is clotted with unshed tears.”
“Cursed?" I offered, my voice croaky because of my unshed tears."It isn't cursed." John said deliberately, rearranging the chain around my neck, "if you're wearing it. It's blessed.”
“But unshed tears can turn rancid. So can memory. So can biting your tongue. My bad nights were beginning. I couldn't sleep.”
“Unshed tears leave a deposit on your heart. Eventually they form a crust around it and paralyze it, the way mineral deposits paralyze a washing machine.”
“By the time I found sleep that night, back in the Hawk's Keep, my throat was tight with too many tears unshed, screams unuttered and prayers whose words I could never seem to find.”
“memoir, collection of my keepsakes is being clotting....”