She's trying not to cry, you see. Her lips are pursed and her eyes are glassy orbs, the remarkable green drowning in salty water. You can't look at those eyes looking at you. You don't want to see the emotion; you don't want to see the agony you know so well. When she finally breaks, you will be there, to sit by her just as you are doing now, with her tangled blood hair and her blue expression.
I'm sorry, you say, but it is merely a whisper lost on sad lips because you know it will never be enough.