I recently read a short story that brought a lump to my throat and tears stinging at the back of my eyes. And I
loved it.
I love art that makes me cry.
Which, at first glance, is weird, because I actually hate crying. I generally resist the shedding of tears if I'm possibly able to do so. I avoid situations where I might be tempted to cry. But if your art brings me to tears, I will gather it to myself in a loving embrace and hawk it shamelessly to all of my friends and relations and remoter cousins to the ninth degree...
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