This has to be written. And no one else will write it. So he is writing.
No one else would be shedding tears. No one else is shedding tears. At least not about what he is writing. Why should they? No one will read what he is writing. No one reads what anyone is writing.
Sometimes he still writes in a notebook with an actual pen and actual paper. Only when an idea catches him without his laptop. Or when a story means too much. This story means too much.
It is just a story. Nothing less. But stories can be more, or they could be once. Maybe nowadays a story is no more than the framework of a movie or a video game or a TV show or more probably an internet show or just a 7-second Vine. Stories are getting very short as the years of the 21st century pass.
This story is more. It is more to him. And that is why he sheds real tears making real stains on real paper.
This has to be written. But just because something has to be written does not mean that it has to be read. So he just writes and cries to himself.