Sometimes sweet—lifting a smile on a face.
And sometimes salty—breaking that very smile.

In my opinion, that’s the most fitting way to describe people’s tears…
When they laugh until they cry, or when they cry from sadness.

I can’t remember how many times I’ve laughed so hard that my eyes filled with tears of joy.
But I do remember the times my eyes watered from sadness.
Not because I’m overly sensitive to the bad things that happen to me—
No, no. I’m incredibly forgetful, especially when it comes to my sorrows.

I only remember because… well, I rarely cry.
It’s probably a good thing we don’t remember our early childhood—
I mean, those memories before we turn two years old.

Because I remember my childhood well.
My mother always says I was quiet as a child.
Then, after talking about me, she goes on to say that she too was quiet when she was young.
She always tells me, “You should talk more.”
She wonders why I don’t…
While I think that ever since I turned fifteen,
I’ve had only one face in front of my family:
a cheerful, laughing girl who listens well.

Of course, that’s not really me.
That was the me I got rid of some time ago.
Now I speak about all kinds of things.

Yet still, my face remains frozen, expressionless.
So sometimes, I wonder—
maybe I don’t have emotions?

Well… no. I’ve never truly believed that.
I don’t like letting people see how deeply sensitive I really am.
So I put on a mask:
I am someone who doesn’t care.

And then… I became that person for real.

I’m the kind of person whose eyes won’t water in the face of death.
I forced myself—
Or maybe I deceived myself.

I picked up someone else’s personality, one that’s nothing like mine.
I tricked myself again and fired live bullets at my own soul.

Not only that—
I learned how to cut off my own limbs while smiling.

Can you imagine what kind of smile that is?
It’s the same smile I have right now.

Yes… sitting here on this chair.

Here I am, placing my hands on the edge of my knees,
leaning forward slightly,
smiling—just like this—
seeing my eyebrows softly from beneath my gaze as I smile.

What kind of smile is this, I wonder?

Ah… doing this is exhausting.

Sitting in this chair is starting to hurt.
I need to crack my back and neck a little.

And as I do that, I remember…
So many people dislike seeing girls act differently from the mold they’ve drawn for them—
Speak gently, behave politely, and adjust their posture even when it’s painful.

Hmm… but I love doing exactly that—
I mean, I’m someone who leans toward things that appear elegant…
things labeled as refined only by name.

I enjoy dismantling that phony grace, followed by a smile.

But there’s one thing I truly hate:
I hate loud laughter.

That roaring laughter suffocates me.
It disturbs me… terribly.

You know… whenever I hear people’s loud laughter around me, I always feel a sense of disgust.
How can they laugh so loudly… without restraint?
Aren’t they aware?
Do they really think they’re the only happy ones here?

Ah… I think most of them don’t even understand the emotions that real laughter carries.
Because most of them are forcing those laughs.
The louder they are… the more fake they seem.

As for me — without realizing — when my laughter rises even a little too high,
I instinctively place my hand over my mouth and apologize,
then continue laughing as tears of pure happiness fill my eyes.

It’s not about being refined or elegant…
It’s simply the natural, gentle way laughter should be.

Because we are not alone.

There are those sitting quietly beside us,
their hearts breaking with grief.
At the very least, we should respect their sadness.
We should laugh softly… not silently, but gently.

That’s why I love speaking softly, walking slowly,
watching people as they talk,
and noticing their joy.

But when something touches me deeply…
I always hide my tears.
Because I fear that if I start crying… I won’t be able to stop.

And then… I’d have to return to reality.

I think it would be hard for me to step out into the real world.
I wouldn’t be able to bear it.
I would stare in confusion at everything around me —
all things I hate.

I would look lost,
building a wall between myself and my inner self,
unable to move forward.

And I fear that version of me…
the one that smiles effortlessly around others,
that doesn’t know fear,
that doesn’t understand the need for boundaries…
would break everything — while smiling.

And yet…
even with all that comfort,
I remain confined here in this place.

I wonder…
How did I spend my childhood?
Should I return to playing again?