[Those words make her tearful voice hiccup just slightly, her embrace tightening just a little. She may not be ashamed of crying, of her confusing mix of sadness for him having to return and relief to see him again, but she is ashamed of not having faith. Of not believing in those words as strongly as he had, the conviction in his voice almost chastising when she thinks of how much she’d longed to say a proper goodbye, or to have known the last time they saw each other would be the last.]
I know... But I still wanted to say it really badly...
[And in her sincerity and simplicity she simply admits to it, to feeling disconnected by his loss, nuzzling into his shoulder as she tries to force herself to prepare to let him go.]
I can take your bromide down from the altar now...
[Had she been chatting at his picture and leaving offers of rice and water as if to a dead relative? ... Maybe.]
no subject
I know... But I still wanted to say it really badly...
[And in her sincerity and simplicity she simply admits to it, to feeling disconnected by his loss, nuzzling into his shoulder as she tries to force herself to prepare to let him go.]
I can take your bromide down from the altar now...
[Had she been chatting at his picture and leaving offers of rice and water as if to a dead relative? ... Maybe.]