Laughter. Heads thrown back, laughing, heartily, the potent demanding contagious type of laughter that tumbles out of stomachs and assaults throats and fills rooms. Their benign cruelty seeps through the thin veneer. You smile, faintly, at the aching familiarity, and walk away. You step outside in the freezing cold, wrapping your arms tightly around you. Walk through buildings with a stoic stride, run up steps. Hum a tune. Stand around. Stalk someone. Pass through groups of people. Stop to buy something to drink. Sit in the middle of nowhere. Stare at some random guy passing by. Talk aloud to yourself. Laugh at nothing. Smile at no one. Shove your hands in your pockets, let the tears roll down your cheeks. Undress in the main square. Trip and fall. Stand in the middle of a room and scream. Cut yourself to make sure you still bleed. No one’s looking, sweetie. No one cares.
— from the Archives: Mar. 18, 2006
