[If he'd voiced any of those thoughts, to be honest... she'd understand perfectly. She'd dealt with that herself since the accident. The disconnect from who you are, and who you want to be... She'd perfected her own mask. She stopped discussing her past sometime in grade school because she learned that bringing up tragedy only invites it to continue. The more she dwelled on what she'd never get back, the less she could be the happy person she wanted to be. And so by burying it, she finally found that happiness.

The difference between them is that she buried to forget, while he buried to remember, over and over, the things he wishes he could change. And that, she thinks, is not healthy. But maybe the same techniques she's used will work for him all the same.]

Mm-hm... if you can't let out your emotions directly... find another way, instead. Like a movie with a happy ending.

[Things got bad, and then worked out again. Just like life. It's just harder to see without narration.

Her eyes move to the glass porch door, the rectangle of light grey and red from the storm overhead and the first touch of sunset. Time had passed, from afternoon to evening, but not enough to truly call it night. But yes, with the room lights off and the computer screen dark for the credit reel, she can pretend not to notice the blush.]

It's raining. [obviously.] Probably better to stay inside...