When I was 11, I read “Where the Red Fern Grows.” I read it all in one night and I was up until about 4 am bawling my eyes out about dying dogs that weren’t even real until my pillow got wet and soggy.
I think I cried more reading that book than I did when I actually experienced the loss of a pet.
I am such a crier. I cry listening to stories on NPR.
I cry at cheesy scenes in movies and TV shows.
I cry reading books that aren’t even sad.