// @terres-arides sent ❛ console . comfort my muse as they cry .
It’s instinctual, the way she tries to laugh it off. Nothing important, she tells herself, nothing new, nothing surprising, nothing worth tears. She’s seen it coming for months now, only a matter of time. Not that telling herself not to cry has ever succeeded, try though Tilly might to rationalize it to herself, to logic her way out of the emotions.
But the laughter breaks too quickly into sobs, and once broken she cannot erect the dam once more and stay them. She’s grateful that her friend doesn’t judge, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t do anything but place her hand upon Tilly’s shoulder, fingers squeezing in reassurance. Not smothering. Not dismissive. A sob catches in her throat, then, like a hiccough, and she finds enough self-control to turn it once more into a laugh. Fingers quickly push tears from her cheeks, smearing salt and, she fears, mascara across her face. ❛ I’m sorry, Owo. ❜ she manages. ❛ Look at me, being silly as always ❜
It’s nothing, she wants to say, but her lips refuse to form the words. Her father’s birthday isn’t nothing, and she feels the distance from home too strongly now.
