Laughter Is Not A Betrayal Of Love

The sun has dipped below the line, and the armor you wore all day finally hits the floor. In this sudden quiet, a joke lands—a small, sharp thing—and you laugh.

Then the terror rises: that this sound means you are forgetting them. That joy is a betrayal.

That to breathe easily is to erase their memory. But listen closely.

The light does not ask you to carry the grief as proof of your love. There was a man once, broken and screaming in the dirt, who was told simply: go home to your people and tell them how much the Lord has done for you.

He did not stay in the tomb. He went out and lived.

Your laughter is not a eraser. It is a testament.

The love remains intact, even when the嘴角 turns up. You are allowed to exhale without losing them.