Tears belong to heaven. So casually considered, an idea pervades this training ground declaring tears to be no more. Yet heaven is no place worth being if such is so, and God knows far better than to allow it.
The architect of all divine destination promises to wipe away all tears. Yet what tear can be wiped away that is not formed, that is not overpowered with emotion and laid sacrifice to consciousness beyond the common kind? Hoping against such tears forfeits all but the truest reason to shed them, silently.
When heaven nearest touches earth, tears roll. That glorious moment of perfection spent, and far too soon fleeting, demands tears. So even heaven, timeless as it may be, must afford that same grace. To assume for a moment that such a place might exist without that otherworldly wonder known only through clouded eyes is to relegate the eternal hopelessly beyond its natural place, without ever knowing it.
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