The Punchline Died, Back When We Laughed

Someone at the bar, last night,

dredged it up, that old joke of ours.

My mouth twisted into a polite, dry grin.

I laughed, a thin sound, but it didn't ring.

Not like it did, back when it meant

we knew a secret, we had a thing.

It used to split us both in half,

a burst of shared air, a giddy chase.

Now it just sits there, flat and rough,

an artifact of a forgotten place.

The laughter’s dead, the punchline’s gone,

just an echo where a truth was born.