Tears and Laughter

People have learned to laugh at my tears.

It’s because they flood my eyes at inopportune moments, spurred on by emotion I am not prepared to handle. Laughter, especially, and fear.

Do they know it’s because I choke back the feelings that should cause tears? I don’t cry when I can’t feel anything. I don’t cry when I feel as if I’m the only person alive in the world, as I do right now.

Do they know it hurts when they laugh? That, even though my laughter seeps through, there’s real pain there?

No. They couldn’t know that. Because they see my tears and get excited. They see my tears, my red face, and think to themselves, “It’s about time, I’ve been waiting all day for someone to say something witty or stupid enough to make Sara cry.”

No. They couldn’t know. No one is that cruel. I desperately want to tell them. I desperately want to say, “Please. Please stop.” But there aren’t enough words to make them understand. It’s the glint in my eye they look for, not the courage of my voice.


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