( i have edges, she thinks, in the quiet gloom. you and paul can't stop cutting yourself open on them. not like briars on a plucked rose, soft and beautiful, but glass shards scattered on a wooden floor, disassembled and broken by someone else. a irreparable mess, and not their own to clean, despite how often they try to pick her up and cradle her in a palm. despite the fact they must know, by now, it will always hurt them.
[The beat of time, like a drip of water into a lake, like the soft shushing sound of the ribbon in Alia's hair, stroked over her thumb, slow, careful circlings.]
I know. I do things because I want to, and no other reason. You know that.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
after a stagnant pause: )
You don't have to make yourself my keeper, Alia.
no subject
I know. I do things because I want to, and no other reason. You know that.