[it's once again time for that silence that means that she's listening. and she's listening with such intent behind it, like she's trying to comprehend. like she's trying to get to the core of it. there's a question hanging on her lips like cigarette smoke.]
I'm sorry. Really, I am.
[she speaks it sincerely, and there's the weight of knowledge-borne regret behind her voice. this is not her just trying to smooth things over. but the wisps hang at the corners of her mouth, too. it's a light of her own, in a way, something that spills from her heavier than air. she doesn't know it's there. she doesn't know if anyone can see it.]
So you think it'd feel better if you were what I'm into?
[she could say it more clearly. she won't. it's delicate.]
no subject
I'm sorry. Really, I am.
[she speaks it sincerely, and there's the weight of knowledge-borne regret behind her voice. this is not her just trying to smooth things over. but the wisps hang at the corners of her mouth, too. it's a light of her own, in a way, something that spills from her heavier than air. she doesn't know it's there. she doesn't know if anyone can see it.]
So you think it'd feel better if you were what I'm into?
[she could say it more clearly. she won't. it's delicate.]