My tears are wasted on the opinions of the unknown. The cruelty they have shown. The harsh words they have spoken, have sent them on a ride of which I'm just a token. The gestures I make, and the words that flutter across my tongue. They are the thoughts of the wise, and movements of the young. Even the young will age, but I do with the tears of a broken heart. The words they speak are still as sharp. They may still cut, but the voices will soften. I can heal, but the memories are locked in.