I have seen men cry quietly, as if they were still asking permission to feel. Sometimes I do it too. Not out of shame, but out of habit. We were taught that crying should be hidden, as if it were something that rots in the light.

But the body does not lie. Pain accumulates in the shoulders, in the jaw, in the back that strains from holding what is not said. Crying solves nothing, but it loosens something inside. It leaves us a little lighter, a little more real.

It is not a gesture of weakness. It is the opposite: to say "this hurts me" without the need to translate it into anger, silence or distance. It is a way of being in the world without hiding at all.

Crying is for men. I cry like a man.