"Not because of you," she is quick to correct, with a grimace at the way the words come out thick with the threat of more weeping. Her head tips back against the door with a woeful thunk. "It all happened in my own head. I'm not-- I'm not well, Gale."

She squeezes her eyes closed and presses the heels of her palms against the lids, but fat tears escape anyway and roll down her cheeks. Every ounce of self control, and that is not much, goes to keeping her voice and breath even.

"Sometimes, sometimes it doesn't matter what someone says. What I hear is the worst possible version, because
... Because ghosts." She gestures uselessly at the air. Gods, she used to be able to explain herself. Used to be able to track the thread of her thoughts, but it's been nothing but tangles for years now.

"I love you." There, that's one thing she knows for certain. A good place to start. "I love that you woke up one day to a strange woman in your kitchen and made me tea. I love the way your hands move when you talk, and I love that you talk all the time. I love that you really, genuinely want to know the answer for every question you ask. I love the way you listen like I have important things to say. I love that you summoned a tressym as a lonely little boy and that she's still your best friend. I love that you remember little things I like. I love you, but I'm-- I might not know how to be loved."