[Somehow it makes it a little better that he's willing to confess to it -- to not pretend that none of it affects him. Maybe it's that he's going through it with her . . . that neither of them are alone in this.]
[Even though again, it makes her want him physically there all the more.]
I think maybe it's hard too that Conan-kun and Hattori-kun are in another house.
[She struggles with how to explain it.]
Suddenly we woke up and realized our families weren't who they thought they were. I have all the memories of my family here, but . . . I remember Mom and Dad. It feels . . . wrong. But I still have to pretend everything is okay. That this is all normal.
It would be nice to at least have Conan-kun here.
[She stares at what she's written, flushes a little, then types:]
Mm, maybe that's selfish. I'm glad they have each other there. Hattori-kun has always been like an older brother to him, so really, it's good for him, and it's not like I can't visit.
[Just when they're not there, she can feel it so keenly -- the incongruity of her memories. Acute awareness that these people who are kind and loving and familiar are actually strangers, and that she's far, far from home. Nothing is right. Nothing is the same.]
Sorry . . . I shouldn't.
[Talking herself out of it again . . . and realizing it probably lays some guilt on him too, however unintentionally.]
private message
[Even though again, it makes her want him physically there all the more.]
I think maybe it's hard too that Conan-kun and Hattori-kun are in another house.
[She struggles with how to explain it.]
Suddenly we woke up and realized our families weren't who they thought they were. I have all the memories of my family here, but . . . I remember Mom and Dad. It feels . . . wrong. But I still have to pretend everything is okay. That this is all normal.
It would be nice to at least have Conan-kun here.
[She stares at what she's written, flushes a little, then types:]
Mm, maybe that's selfish. I'm glad they have each other there. Hattori-kun has always been like an older brother to him, so really, it's good for him, and it's not like I can't visit.
[Just when they're not there, she can feel it so keenly -- the incongruity of her memories. Acute awareness that these people who are kind and loving and familiar are actually strangers, and that she's far, far from home. Nothing is right. Nothing is the same.]
Sorry . . . I shouldn't.
[Talking herself out of it again . . . and realizing it probably lays some guilt on him too, however unintentionally.]