‟ @rekoning, … CHO HYUN-JU › ınquıred: “ that feels like another lifetime. ” / ALWAYS ACCEPTING !
the sentiment hung there, quiet, heavy, as though carried across miles from a world already gone. kuina let her hands fall loose on her knees. THE FAINT ACHE IN HER JOINTS STIRRED MEMORY— THE TRAINING HALLS, BARE FEET ON COOL MATS, THE BOW BEFORE HER FATHER. smell of sweat, sting of liniment. sharp crack of body meeting body. it rushed back all at once, though dim, as if seen through fogged glass she could not wipe clear. she tilted her head, lips tugging into the thinnest curve of a smile. it barely reached her mouth, never mind her eyes. “ another lifetime, yeah. like remembering someone else’s story. ” her voice was soft, so soft, as if the words might break apart if pressed too hard. HERE IN THE BORDERLANDS, TIME HAD NO STEADY MEASURE. DAYS FOLDED, STRETCHED, COLLAPSED, A RHYTHM ONLY OF GAMES, SURVIVAL, SILENCES. but sometimes a phrase, a sound, could rattle the glass and the past shone through. her father’s gaze, stern and sharp. the sigh of disapproval when she stumbled. years spent forcing her body to prove it belonged to her. years carving strength into a shield, because what else could she do? now death circled close, constant. STRANGE TO THINK OF HOW SHE ONCE MEASURED HERSELF. MEDALS THAT NEVER CAME. MATCHES FOUGHT UNTIL HER KNUCKLES SPLIT. the longing for a nod that never arrived. small things now, almost laughable beside the weight of living another night, another game.
kuina drew in air, let it spill slow from her chest. “ when i think about the dojo, the tournaments, my old life— i can’t tell if it soothes me or if it feels cruel. like the memory’s mocking, dangling something i’ll never touch again. ” HER EYES FOUND HYUN-JU’S FACE, NOT FOR COMFORT BUT FOR ACKNOWLEDGMENT. THE RECOGNITION THAT PASSED BETWEEN SURVIVORS. they had both carried their bodies through battlefields, though of different kinds. and the past clung, stubborn, a second skin that refused to peel away. kuina folded her arms, gaze sliding to the pavement, cracked and broken. “ another lifetime, ” she murmured, rolling the words across her tongue like a pebble. SHE THOUGHT OF HER MOTHER — FRAIL, SMILING FAINTLY FROM A WHITE BED — AND EVEN THAT MEMORY SEEMED TO BELONG TO ANOTHER WOMAN. someone who had not yet been pulled into this place. and still, she held onto it. because if the past could be one lifetime, lost and sealed away, then maybe there was another waiting. another she had not yet reached.
