We will never laugh the same again.
We'll still laugh, deep and long, convulsive, a beast of its own mind in us, tickling out each particle of air to leave a rumpled heap of aftershocks.
We'll still laugh, but it won't be at once. It won't be as one.
It won't be like two happily nodding ***** users seeing the glint of the drug in the other's eye. Sharing something made better for the sharing.
Preeminently aware of every nerve in sweating skin brushing sweating skin.
We won't laugh like we did at the final snap of a strained, and fraying tether to the rest of the world.

We were laughing for want of something to say. Laughing to say what words can't. Laughing at the joy and absurdity of finding such joy in something so near and dear.

And we laughed out of more than a little fear.
So fearful of being laid bare, scraped clean of subtle lies and omitted truths.

We can still enjoy ourselves.
But it will never be that same fearsome, roaring, glorious unknown.