Amalia
A deeper conversation is all I want from you-
There is a part of Amalia that wants to slap Loren, to tell him that isn't even close to what she said (or didn't say). But a larger part of her is still too tired to have that fight, too mired in her own unhappiness to drag him out of his; so the baker simply looks away, an expression of pain flashing over her face before fading back down to stony exhaustion.She fully expects him to walk away, to make his way back into the world and leave a gaping space between them, another bridge irrevocably burnt. But instead he stops, hesitates in the doorway, the silhouette of someone who could so easily slip away. When he turns around his grief is a buffet, the harsh wind of a hot oven crushing down upon her soul. I loved him, he whispers in that torn, anguished voice, and for a moment Amalia's facade drops as well, his misery echoed in her own confession, a similar emotion for a very different man: "Me too."
He apologizes and she shrugs it off, a clear don't worry in her tense shoulders, her tired eyes. At the inquiry of whether she wants to talk Amalia simply exhales a half-snort, turning her back to Loren and moving toward the rear of the bakery. Only her voice betrays that she has not simply chosen to walk away, that she is willing to lay down wood to rebuild their bridge if he is. "I only met Abasi once. He asked me about the gods. His answers were... hard."
- I want the words you're afraid to say:
the lonely ones you keep hidden
between the folds of your heart
