Ib is aware, more than anything else, that this shouldn't be possible.
She saw Garry in the gallery, sleeping... a sleep that he'd never wake up from. It took her a long time to understand that, at first. More importantly, perhaps, he'd never left the gallery to begin with, and his rose...
...It isn't hard to put the pieces together when you try. It's not like a milk puzzle. She knows where the pieces fit, it's just that she doesn't want them to; and it's easier to pretend that the puzzle will never be solved. But right now, Garry is standing before her, shattering that very puzzle that she thought she'd finally put together.
"Garry..." her words are small, hesitant. Ib's never been one to say much, but her words carry so much weight, especially now. The thing is - she knows this might not be the Garry she knew. But she doesn't care. She missed him. He was the only one who could ever understand her, in the end.
"I..." ' missed you. ' She can't quite say it. "It's you...?"
@fabricatedprince ( starter! )
