Crying is for the weak, but again and again I find tears rolling down my cheeks while standing around, getting coffee, eating food, sleeping. They'll come at random, and I decided not to fight them anymore. There's no sobbing, no grossness. Just tears.

Because let's face it, we're fucked. We have the weight of two universes on our shoulders, and while we're fucking around on golden ships and meteors, bubbles were being destroyed in our path. It was killing me, I only saw one or two destroyed, but all my friends – Terezi, John, Rose, Jade, Karkat, hell even myself – were suddenly disintegrated. Dead for good. Nothing but nothing.

I thought picking up all the dead Daves was bad. I thought that was the worst it was going to get, because watching myself fall into lava and have my face melt was painful enough. And then Bro died, and I thought that would be the worst, because nothing's worse than watching family die, right?

But the deaths kept piling up. Up and up and up andupandupandupandthen suddenly everything was alive forever, static, frozen in place. Which may have been worse because suddenly we couldn't die, unless there was a reason. And in the meantime, we were stuck on moving things, split up into two groups. Universes had cancer, planets were dead, everything was scratched. We couldn't do anything, and we wouldn't be for three years, and in that time we were complete sitting ducks. And once we reached each other, we would have to fight the biggest, most grotesque demon king any multiverse has ever seen ever. And we'll have to defeat it, kick its ass to the curb for good, then fight the bitch fish queen.

And look at John. He was the real hero, the Superman to the Justice League. But he's perfectly fine. The goofy ball of bullshit's cracking jokes, smiling, acting like it's high school instead of hell. He was fine. He has the real sky to carry, he's Atlas, and I'm acting like my life's so bad, I'm cracking down because oh fucking no I had to bury my brother and I had to watch all my friends die so many times I lost count and I watched myself die a thousand, ten thousand, a million times and the bodies are piling up and up and suddenly all I could wish for was death, for God's sake, I don't want to fight anymore.

I'm so tired.

I'm sick.

I can't fight.

I can't see.

I can't breathe.

Rose, help, I'm dying.

Rose, where are you? Rose? Rose, I need you. Rose, please, don't leave me alone to die. Not now.

If I die because I'm weak, is it just because I deserve it or heroic because I'm helping you? Does it even count?

If I slit my throat right now, right the fuck now, right in front of you all, would I die forever? Would I slip into one of the bubbles, then get disintegrated like all the rest? Would you care? Would you notice a difference? What's wrong with you? Why aren't you looking at me? Am I already dead?

No, I'm not screaming at them. Just standing there. With tears running down my face again.

I'm sick and tired of this damn life. And the coffee is burning my tongue, and my hand, and I feel like throwing up. But I wipe my face, set the mug down, and pat Rose on the back as I leave.

Because crying is for the weak. And I need to be strong in front of them, even if I'm cracking down. Crying is for the weak, and it's worse in front of people.