--Laughter-- [Nimdoks thoughts]

I loved her laugh. I loved the way it rose, like a bird startled into flight—sharp and sudden—and then hollowed out, drifting into the air until it became part of the silence. It was a sound that belonged to her alone, distinct, impossible to replicate. It clung to the walls of our little home, echoing in my head long after the moment had passed. I miss it, you know. Her laugh. It feels wrong to admit that now. Wrong to even think of it, but I do. 

I think of her laughter, and I think of those days when we were children. When we would sit in the sunlight, our legs folded on the soft grass, her voice weaving tales of adventures I couldn’t imagine on my own.
She was always so much better at dreaming than I was. Her nails were always clean.

 Did I ever tell you that?

 I remember how they shone, trimmed and neat, like little polished pearls. She hated dirt under her nails, though she spent so much time in the garden. 

Her hands were like magic to me, so sure and steady, even when mine trembled.
And her eyes—God, her eyes.
They weren’t just eyes. They were pools, deep and endless.

You could fall into them,
drown in them,
 and never feel the need to come up for air.

 I often wondered what it was like to see the world the way she did. To see it so... whole.
 Then there were her ears, soft and alert, always flicking at the slightest sound.
They framed her face so perfectly, like they were drawn there by some artist’s hand.

 And her tail. Her tail was... inviting......

 I don’t mean that in the way you think I do—or maybe I do.
 I don’t know anymore....Ha.

It had a rhythm to it, a sway that pulled you in without you realizing. It was like she was always calling out to you, even when she wasn’t. A beacon, a guide, a tether. It made you want to reach out,
to touch,
to hold,
 to keep.

 But I hate her laugh now. I hate the sound of it. I hate how it echoes in my head, how it lingers, how it feels like it’s been burned into my skull. I hate how it taunts me, how it reminds me of what I’ve done.

 And worse, I loathe the world’s laughter. Their laughter is cruel. Hollow. It bites and scrapes, ringing false in my ears. It doesn’t rise like hers did. It doesn’t fill the space like hers. It doesn’t feel like hers. It’s mocking, discordant, like a thousand jeers from unseen faces. It reminds me, over and over again, of what is gone.

Of what I took away.

Because there’s no laughter anymore.
There’s no warmth,
 no softness,
 no sway of a tail or the glint of polished nails.

There’s only the silence now.


The heavy, crushing silence.


And it’s my fault. I thought I could protect her. I thought I could keep her safe. I thought I could love her the way she deserved to be loved. But I didn’t.

 I couldn’t.



 I... I loved her too much.