Her laugh...

Her laugh grates me. A rolling giggle of little squeals escapes the thousands of others gathered together in her tiny pig mouth. The laughter spews from her face without concern or weight. It floats through the air lifeless and devoid of intent. She laughs at anything; even silence. For silence is the evidence that she has nothing to say and therefore those around her might suspect that she is dumb, so she pollutes the air with her staccato titters to fill the void that she fears will give her away. Silence is her enemy. Silence is proof that behind that pretty pig face is an empty shell thinking nothing but the nervous fears of an insecure self-absorbed waif who wants only to be loved.

I for one adore her.

I want to know why she laughs. I want to know why she is so insecure. Is it all a charade for the man she is with? This supposedly witty beast who pretends he cares not whether she is laughing. He does not look at her, he only scans the room. It is not because he doesn't want her. He just wants to know who else wants her.

He tells another story, casting his eyes across her shoulders briefly. The glance is enough for her to push her dark hair behind her ears. She watches him keenly as he mutters twittering sweetly, occasionally covering her mouth with her hand as if suddenly aware that her constant laughter might be somewhat annoying to others, yet she does not stop. She looks nowhere else. Only at him, the man she adores.

I envy him. Not because of who he is, for he is as despicable to me as a rat or worm, I envy him because he has her attention. It is not her I crave, it is that unwavering devotion. To be stared upon like that by someone who adores you despite even the courtesy of eye contact must be a wondrous thing. She is like a dog. A body empty of any real thought other than the love of her master. That is what I envy, her loyalty, her unabashed love.

How can she not be adored?