The anatomy of a laugh, in five glorious chapters.
It starts as a tickle. A twitch at the corner of your mouth. Something is funny and your body knows it before your brain does. The pressure builds, a carbonation of delight rising through your chest, fizzing against your ribs. You try to hold it in. You can't.
Tip: hold it in. (Spoiler: you won't.)
It erupts. A snort, a wheeze, a full-body convulsion of joy. Your eyes water, your stomach aches, and you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. This is the moment of pure, unfiltered happiness. The giggle has won. So have you.
The giggles subside like ripples in a pond. You're breathless, glowing, lighter than before. The world looks different through tear-blurred eyes. Everything is a little bit funnier now. The threshold has been lowered. One wrong look and you'll start all over again.
The smallest tear, salt-warm, evidence of the joy that just shook through you.
Two muscles you forgot existed are now politely demanding a rest. They will wait.
Stress hormones evicted; endorphins moved in. The lease is short, but the rent is free.
// laugh telemetry
duration: 0.0s
amplitude: 0dB
contagious: 0%