Laugh

Humor can tie people together more quickly and more unforgettably than any other medium, creating stories and memories in less time than it takes to smile.

Ever since the relationship Ashley and I shared fell apart, I’ve been watching more movies by myself, and I’ve noticed a peculiar trend: I tend to laugh more often and with much greater fervor than I did when with Ashley. Whenever we would watch a movie together, as jokes were delivered, I would subconsciously wait to make sure Ashley thought it was funny, glancing over to monitor the angle and altitude of the corners of her mouth, before letting out the laugh that was destined to come. Once we were both laughing, we would always look at each other, our faces cracked with smiles and our eyes wide with happiness, movielight shining in our hair and illuminating our love struck faces, creating a moment so special, so perfectly crafted, that it could only be straight out of a movie.

Now I am without. I watch thousands of pictures flash before my eyes, pictures that should be displaying a romantic comedy, and think about the significance of them as a whole. I drown in the darkness of the theater and let myself become part of the experience, listening to each vocal inflection, catching every sideways grin, and shrieking at the lines that the writers themselves only smiled at. Dragging each laugh out longer and louder than it should be, I wrap myself in the hilarity of fake lives like a blanket, hiding the aching depression from myself, if only for a split second.

The next time you’re watching a movie with a loved one and some moron keeps screaming and laughing at the most inappropriate moments, just lean back and cuddle with your better half and thank God you aren’t like that guy, smiling back hours of tears.