[ And that's the tragedy of it, isn't it? Some people, like Tadashi, are brought to this world when they have no future anywhere else. Some, like Ruka, like Jaime, they stay too long, and change too much, that whatever "future" their original worlds hold isn't theirs anymore. It belongs to someone else — some other version of them that doesn't know these pains, these losses. There are other people, too, in similar circumstances — people that find new callings, new reasons to live, who ... find the people they fit with. The ones that, somehow, seem like they were always supposed to belong together.
And nobody gets to choose who stays, or who goes. Nobody decides who gets to come back, or when. Nobody remains forever.
Every existence is fragile. The world itself is a wounded, delicate place, even now on the verge of destruction — but from one night to morning, anyone's whole world could end, if someone leaves.
Under the table, Ruka bumps the toe of her shoe against Tadashi's, an unseen call for attention. ]
It's rare, to come back. To remember. To... have even one person left, who missed us.
[ For Tadashi, it's Jaime. For Ruka, it had been Mitchell Hundred, of all people, and the loss is still strange in a way she can't quantify. There are others who have come back, too, to only one friend, to two. Some, who come back to no one at all. By nature, the story of any one imPort is a tragedy. ]
... It's hard to lose that much time, and so many people. Even some of the lucky ones can't recover from that. ... But... I wonder, sometimes... if we're brought forward like this, because... the things we need, or that we're needed for, just don't exist yet... and we wouldn't be able to endure the wait.
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[ And that's the tragedy of it, isn't it? Some people, like Tadashi, are brought to this world when they have no future anywhere else. Some, like Ruka, like Jaime, they stay too long, and change too much, that whatever "future" their original worlds hold isn't theirs anymore. It belongs to someone else — some other version of them that doesn't know these pains, these losses. There are other people, too, in similar circumstances — people that find new callings, new reasons to live, who ... find the people they fit with. The ones that, somehow, seem like they were always supposed to belong together.
And nobody gets to choose who stays, or who goes. Nobody decides who gets to come back, or when. Nobody remains forever.
Every existence is fragile. The world itself is a wounded, delicate place, even now on the verge of destruction — but from one night to morning, anyone's whole world could end, if someone leaves.
Under the table, Ruka bumps the toe of her shoe against Tadashi's, an unseen call for attention. ]
It's rare, to come back. To remember. To... have even one person left, who missed us.
[ For Tadashi, it's Jaime. For Ruka, it had been Mitchell Hundred, of all people, and the loss is still strange in a way she can't quantify. There are others who have come back, too, to only one friend, to two. Some, who come back to no one at all. By nature, the story of any one imPort is a tragedy. ]
... It's hard to lose that much time, and so many people. Even some of the lucky ones can't recover from that. ... But... I wonder, sometimes... if we're brought forward like this, because... the things we need, or that we're needed for, just don't exist yet... and we wouldn't be able to endure the wait.
...
[ She sips her coffee, and shrugs. ]
... I'm glad you were brought back.