flora
Flora turns her gaze toward the waterfall, considering Sohalia’s question with a care she doesn’t always show. The kind of care that makes her shoulders still and her breath slow. Eventually, she shakes her head, barely, just enough for Soh to feel it in the brush of curls against her arm. "For me..." she begins, voice soft, almost hesitant, "it’s the opposite, I think. Like what everyone thinks about me because of what they see is who I am." She huffs a tired laugh, not bitter, just worn. "But inside? I never feel like that girl. I feel like I’m pretending to be her. Like I borrowed her skin and keep hoping no one notices the seams."
She doesn’t elaborate further, not wanting to pull the conversation back to herself, not when she sees the weight Soh’s still carrying. Instead, she shifts, shoulder pressing more firmly against Sohalia’s, warm and grounding. Her brows lift, gentle and encouraging. "Is that how you feel, though?" she asks softly. "Like you don’t know who you are anymore?"
Flora doesn't flood the silence with reassurances about how wonderful Soh is or how much she's accomplished, because that’s not what this is, and Flora knows sometimes, when the mirror gets too fogged to see yourself clearly, what you need isn’t someone telling you what they see. You just need someone to stay beside you, steady and immovable, while you try to find the shape of yourself again.
She doesn’t elaborate further, not wanting to pull the conversation back to herself, not when she sees the weight Soh’s still carrying. Instead, she shifts, shoulder pressing more firmly against Sohalia’s, warm and grounding. Her brows lift, gentle and encouraging. "Is that how you feel, though?" she asks softly. "Like you don’t know who you are anymore?"
Flora doesn't flood the silence with reassurances about how wonderful Soh is or how much she's accomplished, because that’s not what this is, and Flora knows sometimes, when the mirror gets too fogged to see yourself clearly, what you need isn’t someone telling you what they see. You just need someone to stay beside you, steady and immovable, while you try to find the shape of yourself again.
& someone else lights up the room; people love an ingénue
will you still want me when i'm nothing new?
will you still want me when i'm nothing new?
