Over the years, the two of them have become oddly attuned-- they have a habit of hearing what's unsaid. And here, she... can't. But the absence echoes; whatever he's telling her by not telling her is terribly important.
It's a little unnerving, honestly. It's a moment where the distance between them stretches wider, uncanny and impassible.
She considers it a while, a few slow bites of chicken. And when she speaks again, it could almost be a non sequitur, measured and calm as she gazes out over the too-tall grass.
"There's value in things that are fleeting."
She's been desperate to affirm that for herself, for obvious reasons. Even now, knowing that maybe she's wrong about how close the end is-- there has to be value in all things, she needs to believe it. She could disappear again as soon as she walks inside, slipping through time as smoothly as she did in Rhode Island, but there'd still be value to being here with him.
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It's a little unnerving, honestly. It's a moment where the distance between them stretches wider, uncanny and impassible.
She considers it a while, a few slow bites of chicken. And when she speaks again, it could almost be a non sequitur, measured and calm as she gazes out over the too-tall grass.
"There's value in things that are fleeting."
She's been desperate to affirm that for herself, for obvious reasons. Even now, knowing that maybe she's wrong about how close the end is-- there has to be value in all things, she needs to believe it. She could disappear again as soon as she walks inside, slipping through time as smoothly as she did in Rhode Island, but there'd still be value to being here with him.