I Miss Her Laugh

It's been six months since Sarah left. We weren't fighting, not really. Just… drifting. Like two boats untethered, slowly moving away from each other in the fog. I thought, stupidly, that it would be okay. That we'd always find our way back.

Now she's with someone else. I saw them downtown last week, holding hands. He's not… me. He's louder, more outgoing. Everything I wasn't. I hate him, even though I know it's not his fault.

Mostly, I miss her laugh. It was this snorting, wheezing sound that she hated, but I loved. It meant she was truly happy, unguarded. I haven't heard it since she packed her bags. I haven't heard anything but silence where her laughter used to be.

I should have tried harder. I should have told her I loved her more. I should have… everything. Now all I have is regret, a hollow ache in my chest where her laughter used to live. Maybe one day I'll forgive myself. Maybe one day the silence won't be so deafening. But not today.