Questions Not Facts

Is it safe to assume the absence of grief
when my eyes are dry, tasteless to
people's curious diet of melodrama?

Or will I be tongue-castrated for my wordless
sex with language, though ever revealing?

Looking back at our past, will
longing cloud my eyes, or will
I regret how our life together
had fallen apart too soon?

Is it safe to assume when I don't cry,
don't tell, don't regret or long for
our life, we were never together,
or apart?

P.S.: A poem is not necessarily made of grand idea or ideas. The concept behind this piece is simple actually: the more we laugh, the happier we become, so the less we cry, the lesser the grief, as if nothing has happened? This piece only got to the third or fourth draft.