Ha-ha

The last laugh was always his, even the first time they met. He laughed while she just stood there, head tilted with annoyance and lips curdled in fake anger. He laughed as they lay cradled in each other’s arms, not knowing how else to show he heard her over the wails of birds protesting the dawn. He laughed when they were together, hoping the sound would bring her concrete defences crumbling down. He laughed in loneliness, knowing the empty hysterics were his only solace. He laughed as she told him everything about her because she revealed nothing at all. He laughed when she repeated those lies over and over again. He laughed not because he believed them every time, but because it was supposed to make her feel better. He laughed when she broke the many promises he pretended to treasure. He laughed to show he didn’t care that she did. He laughed when she walked through the door the mascara running dark rivers down her beautiful face, fed by the tears his laughter had wrought. He laughed as she yelled that he was insane. He laughed because he already knew it. He laughed when she beat upon his chest, her tears making little patterns of sorrow on his favourite shirt. He laughed while she turned away and slammed the door on his contorted face. He laughed so it would drown the echo of her footsteps. He laughed so it could murder the memory of her. He laughed with the mirth of madmen, because sadness was the only thing he’d ever known. After all, the last laugh was always his.