It was her favorite toy.
Not only were they pretty, with all the clear colors, and the flowers, and the gold leaf, but they were a perfect representation of recursion. The nesting dolls were red, yellow and purple, and each was precisely the same as the next larger one. She had insisted on this particular set, because the other sets were imperfect.
They lived on her nightstand. Depending on her mood, they would create different patterns. Sometimes all stacked, sometimes lined up in order, top halves together, it didn't matter. Her mercurial imagination could create something new every day, to reflect her mood, to echo the light.
What makes a toy a favorite? It's the one that haunts your memories, even when you don't realize it.
River is home.
Home has family, but it's hard to categorize who is who. Simon, of course, is still ge ge, but who is Kaylee? Everyone else calls her mei mei, but River's still the youngest ... reminding herself to do the math again, and this time to not forget the quanta.
Mal is Daddy, Jayne is ... di di? She laughs out loud at the absurdness and aptness of that, startling her dinner companions. Warm amusement floats from the head of the table. No answer required, so, no reply made. Just a private smile.
Compartmentalizing is only useful in certain cases, anyway. Serenity's family, and River's home.
It's such a little word.
It's such a big concept.
Trust is built on relationships. Relationships are built on trust.
Vicious circling, snake in the grass eating it's own tail.
Fear is an emotion. Emotions are overwhelming.
Fluid thoughts, rivers of feeling. Agape. Eros. Slipping together in the delta to the sea.
Waves of words, crashing ceaselessly. Never alone. Save for the muddled moments, drug-induced sanity.
Trust no one, save the one who lost everything, and has nothing to hang his own trust on. Save you.
The thought is a gem, a bright star to fly by.
Safe. Serene. Sleep.