I ask people, "What is the color of laughter?" They respond with pastel pinks and yellows. My face becomes wry, displeased, almost with a touch of mockery. Laughter is not pastel pink or yellow. Laughter is not pastel at all. Laughter is red, the small chuckle that escapes his mouth in the middle of a bar fight. Laughter might even be translucent. It's practically see through. It's a window through the masks she wears everyday. Laughter is not pastel pink or yellow. Laughter is blue, when she says "Oh..." leaving a friend's house knowing she'll never return.

"Have you ever owned laughter? Have you really made it yours?" You'll say sure. You snort, giggle, and chuckle in your own odd ways. Despite this, laughter was never yours. You laugh because it's part of your facade, your political appearance. That's where you and I differ.

Laughter is not pastel pink or yellow. Laughter is mine. Laughter is mine and nothing of mine is pastel pink or yellow.