The back of my throat always feels tightest right before i laugh, like it’s trying to decide if it’s safe, if the sound is allowed to come out and cosmo just… gives permission, every single time, like a furry, four-legged bell, announcing that joy is not only possible but REQUIRED. and the fact that i still need reminding, after all this time, after all this… living, means there’s still a version of me hiding, waiting for the all-clear signal that might never come, unless i… send it.