until i'm ready, let me be
Amalia had long since given up daydreaming on the nature of her father. As a child she often bothered her mother for details on the mysterious man, and was always rebuffed with the same non-answers: I don't remember or it doesn't matter or he was just a man, and anyway, don't you have something better to be doing with your time? She'd never dreamed it would be a figure she grew up knowing the children of, someone so firmly cemented in the outskirts of her history.
And after a while, she hadn't dreamed of it at all.
Now she looks at Sam's half-smile and feels a tug of something strange, long-since dormant in her chest. Familial loyalty, an obligation to blood, ties of history too deep to unravel, too primal to ignore any longer. They're so similar, she reflects, shaking her head at his suggestion, though not unkindly, not with her old dismissive rage. "Do you really... really think it's possible?" she wonders frankly, running her hand up over her arm, the letter still clutched between her fingers. To find common ground, but also to be family: it all seems so improbable, like a child's dream.
And after a while, she hadn't dreamed of it at all.
Now she looks at Sam's half-smile and feels a tug of something strange, long-since dormant in her chest. Familial loyalty, an obligation to blood, ties of history too deep to unravel, too primal to ignore any longer. They're so similar, she reflects, shaking her head at his suggestion, though not unkindly, not with her old dismissive rage. "Do you really... really think it's possible?" she wonders frankly, running her hand up over her arm, the letter still clutched between her fingers. To find common ground, but also to be family: it all seems so improbable, like a child's dream.
i have to heal myself
AmaLiA
