If laughter could be fabricated, constructed, molded, folded, overlapped, under the table, behind someone's back, over a light dinner, amongst friends, at good times and bad, over the hill and under then why would happiness exist? I hear all their laughter but all they are doing is lieing to me. It echoes like ringing bells and my ears begin to bleed. Every laugh I have ever heard from anyone is a lie. A fabrication. I know you're laughing right now. You're lieing to yourself like you lied to me.