I used to laugh in my sleep, the giggles would resonate like church bells during a funeral, hopeful despite the dreariness. I slept so that I could hear myself laugh again.

This went on for weeks, then one day the laughing halted altogether. No more symphonies of hazy laughter and crinkled eyes. Why did something so altering and harmless have to end?

It was a lesson, never become dependent on other people for your happiness. They can give but they can also take.

I found my laughter again in the unsteadiness of the ocean, the moodiness of the current. How the rip tide could carry you away but only if you let it. The sun tasted like serenity and that was where I found my purity. 

I found my laughter again in the words that appeared in the steam of my tea. Cinnamon was the flavor I drank when I knew you but I’ve moved onto blueberry now. They whisper look at this, look at her, look at the world. I drink up their simmering advice.

I found my laughter again in the patience of clouds. How they absorb everything for a little bit, let it all out for a day and then move on. I try not to lock all my worries up inside myself anymore, but when I do I always make sure I have an umbrella handy.
I thought I found my laughter in you but turns out you were only a hiccup that interrupted it.