[ She's thinking about it, too. Umui, the sickness. How because she hadn't talked about those things she'd stubbornly pushed down came back, filled her lungs and throat and pushed through skin like it was nothing. She never wants to feel that again.

The sparkler's gone out, by now, and she rolls the stick between her fingers. ]

... It shouldn't be this hard. Letting yourself feel the hurt. [ A pause. ] But you're right. I don't... want to suffer because I couldn't talk about my feelings.