[Firo finds that he's disappointed when the world of his imagination encircles them. He had wanted to get out of that particular mire of memories--badly--but he'd also been so hopeful that home would finally be nearby.

He sighs and lets his head dip towards the ground for just a second. He's tired of this.]

The ones that weren't yours were mine.

What're we gonna do now? If you can't look at those, how're you gonna get rid of 'em?