before she knew it, she was laughing. it started as a lilting, feminine laugh. the kind that is real, but inhibited. then it kept going.
she was aware of herself, which is uncommon. most laugh who laugh without reserve are doing so without intention.
the tears about to pour over her eyes, her face and lips stretched wide, wider, widest, her nose growing pink, then red; she was acutely aware of it all.
the inhibitions fell away to reveal strong laugh, accentuated by a gasping for breath, failure of her body to retain its aforementioned composure.
she allowed it.
she allowed herself to ache happily.
inhibitions and composure be damned.
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