In this surfing time of meaning we love and try to survive. Into our souls the balance requiere is negative even if we climb the light. When the force recall us that the shining true arrives to our tongue we destroy those belongings that fly to our memory: when our childhood drawn down deep in the cataclysm called sorrow and depression. Our sight becomes blue, our sins becomes guilty, our voices becomes tears. We can’t forget what we have done. And we wake up in the morning to drink our coffee, to make our break fast, to start up our day. We can be far away from our first love or be just in front of it. We can have children or not. We can be reading a book or we can be listening music. We always remember our first fire, our first shelter, our first rain, our first broken heart. And this kind of memory that we have build up us. Indeed we cry when someone near die. We cry when our beaten heart is broken. We cry when we are surprised by the miracle of life. We cry when we reached our goals. We used to cry, and cry so on, for nothing and for all. And there’s a language in crying. Is not bad to cry, is our salt liquid, is your ocean in our eyes, is the way we clean our mind and soul, our sight and vision, our silence and light, our inner time, of being carrying on all kind of stuff: nightmares, sins, hates, delusions, frustrations, misunderstood, differences, and so on. So, indeed we cry, for nothing an for all, and is a gift given by God to us, to forgive and forget and continuing on with our life, to claim that we can preserve our integrity be defending our right to leave on back what in other way can destroy us.