At the supermarket, you could always tell she was there. Her laughter carried across the aisles.
On the corner of the street, it drowned out conversations. Sometimes she laughed so loudly that people shifted uncomfortably and glanced at one another.
Once, she burst into laughter at the driest joke. Everyone looked around, wondering what was so funny. They gave her that look. She never seemed to mind.
Little did they know that beneath her bed sat empty plates. Some still held unfinished meals. Others had long dried with the remains of food.
Clothes lay everywhere, clean mixed with dirty, until there was barely enough room to lie down.
Each night, she pushed everything aside just to make space to sleep.
Her pillow was stained with the tracks of tears that visited long after everyone else had gone to bed.
But when morning came, she stepped outside with the widest smile.
And once again, her laughter was the loudest thing in the room, carrying everything no one else could see.