[ honestly. she doesn't know if she could look away even if she felt like it. they're not as close as... but still, something nags at the edge of her memory, pushed along by drink and remains just out of reach. her hand feels heavy against the cool glass. ]

... No, but I think it sounds rather lonely.

[ there's a difference in being alone, and being lonely. that's why someone could be surrounded by so many people who cared about them, who wanted the same thing, and that person would still feel like the only one in the world. grief has a way of isolating others.

they all had been, in their own ways. ]

I don't really like people seeing me miserable either, to be honest. I end up putting those feelings into something productive, since I don't see the point in dwelling on something I can't change. [ that's that, and this is this.

... something about roland, about age, and... her face furrows, trying to figure out what the clouded memory is. ] All we can do, is do what we're capable of. Am I making sense? I kinda feel like I'm just... saying stuff now.

[ maybe she is, a little. avoided quiet question of if she prefers being alone too, or if she likes to surround herself with like others. productive either way. ]