A spoonful of sugar

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help She shakes her head immediately at his second statement, tired and frustrated by their inability to communicate, the way they always seem to meet this impasse. Hugging herself tighter, Amalia bites her lips. She wishes she could pull her legs up to her chest, vanish into a ball of silence and childish resentment. What's the point of talking about it, when they never seem to hear what it is the other is trying to say? It reminds her so acutely of fighting with her mother that the girl almost laughs, the humor mirthless and coiled like smoke in the bowels of her chest. What is she supposed to say to him? No, you weren't. Yes, you were. I don't know. I don't know Feathers bristle over her shoulders, a ripple that cascades down her arms and ends upon her fingers, appearing and vanishing in an anxious wave. The fight or flight instinct is strong, and she cannot fly away. But fighting is pointless, too. She fought with her mother, and she lost Rishima too soon for it. She does not want to repeat that mistake. Inhale. Exhale. Take a breath. "Jigano, I... I hate when you say that. As though all of this - everything that's happened - was your fault." They are two, after all, are they not? "I... I said you treated me like a child, but you were right. I am a child. And I'm... I'm sorry, for not being stronger. I get angry, and I get hurt, and I didn't listen. But... I want to listen. To hear what's, what's really wrong. And, besides... I'm kind of a captive audience right now." The last line is thrown in with some small amount of humor, hope to ease the weight of her words. She wishes he would open up with her, the way she tried to do with him. She wishes she could understand him better. She wishes for many things. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine