[ When Honerva finishes speaking, she nods in silence.
Hopes is what she needs to retain, and it's hope that augments her selfish desire to say, when she fears that it would be best to distance herself....
It just never seems like enough. The one she loves is hurt by many things-- every month, every month, without pause or break or time for him to catch his breath or regain his bearings, and always with something pushing him back down to crumble... And she never wants to be a part of that pain or an extra source for it, unwittingly or not. If there is some way for her to give him a little happiness, she wants to. Happiness, joy, love and not pain, but it never seems like it's enough, even if she sorely wishes to believe. (And she feels awful for bringing up her upset at the wedding before.) She feels as if she is fighting against a terrible luck or fate that constantly makes him miserable. It must be exhausting for him...
Her expression knots into a wince, and she buckles slightly forward. ] Hope.
Hope is good. I'll follow it to the future. I promise.
[ As for the loved others might carry to herself. Quite suddenly, she's not so sure anymore-- or, no, she's sure they'll say it. But is it right for them to feel such ways, when she hurts them? ]
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Hopes is what she needs to retain, and it's hope that augments her selfish desire to say, when she fears that it would be best to distance herself....
It just never seems like enough. The one she loves is hurt by many things-- every month, every month, without pause or break or time for him to catch his breath or regain his bearings, and always with something pushing him back down to crumble... And she never wants to be a part of that pain or an extra source for it, unwittingly or not. If there is some way for her to give him a little happiness, she wants to. Happiness, joy, love and not pain, but it never seems like it's enough, even if she sorely wishes to believe. (And she feels awful for bringing up her upset at the wedding before.) She feels as if she is fighting against a terrible luck or fate that constantly makes him miserable. It must be exhausting for him...
Her expression knots into a wince, and she buckles slightly forward. ] Hope.
Hope is good. I'll follow it to the future. I promise.
[ As for the loved others might carry to herself. Quite suddenly, she's not so sure anymore-- or, no, she's sure they'll say it. But is it right for them to feel such ways, when she hurts them? ]