[ broadcast mind - thought/memory ]
It's the memorial tree that lies before your eyes, each leaf with a name etched into their surface, each name of a person who has been and gone. Those who come to this world, those who make impact enough to be remembered and to have their name written upon stone so those who are forced to remain behind may gaze on them and bring themselves unnecessary sorrow.
Just as you do now. One name, of leaf in particular has your interest. That name, a name most people probably don't remember, probably never heard in their time here, is important, more important than the others.
I don't understand.
Not a word falls from your lips and yet you still hear it, a grasp on something calm and steady, even as the ground beneath your feet feels as if it's about to fall away and you will fall into a dark abyss.
Why do I remain here?
Temptation strikes, the urge to touch that name, as if it will give you answers, as if it will free you from the confusion, the sudden feelings that strike, that you've denied and pushed away so things could get done, so this city could be protected and...
Why do you continue to leave?
... and so you could rid yourself of that hurt, like you're trying to do now, like you've done these past few days. Asking these questions, so perhaps there's a reason to be angry or annoyed that you can channel through work or through training, turn it into something managable. There is no hope for an answer, no hope for being free.
I cannot...
You don't even allow the thought to finish, but the breath that follows is harsh, just barely audible to someone who may be listening, yet thunderous in your ears. That thought doesn't need completion. That simple sound, the fact you dared to make it, is enough.
Silence strikes, louder than that traitorous breath of emotion, trying to remove it from existence. Those moments
I tire of hope.
Cold. Unforgiving. This place knows how to wear one down. To eat at their dreams, their will.
And yet... I will wait for you.
It sounds pathetic, though it's strong, resolved.
But that name there--
Hisana
--is the most important name.
It's the one name that makes you human.
Just as you do now. One name, of leaf in particular has your interest. That name, a name most people probably don't remember, probably never heard in their time here, is important, more important than the others.
I don't understand.
Not a word falls from your lips and yet you still hear it, a grasp on something calm and steady, even as the ground beneath your feet feels as if it's about to fall away and you will fall into a dark abyss.
Why do I remain here?
Temptation strikes, the urge to touch that name, as if it will give you answers, as if it will free you from the confusion, the sudden feelings that strike, that you've denied and pushed away so things could get done, so this city could be protected and...
Why do you continue to leave?
... and so you could rid yourself of that hurt, like you're trying to do now, like you've done these past few days. Asking these questions, so perhaps there's a reason to be angry or annoyed that you can channel through work or through training, turn it into something managable. There is no hope for an answer, no hope for being free.
I cannot...
You don't even allow the thought to finish, but the breath that follows is harsh, just barely audible to someone who may be listening, yet thunderous in your ears. That thought doesn't need completion. That simple sound, the fact you dared to make it, is enough.
Silence strikes, louder than that traitorous breath of emotion, trying to remove it from existence. Those moments
I tire of hope.
Cold. Unforgiving. This place knows how to wear one down. To eat at their dreams, their will.
And yet... I will wait for you.
It sounds pathetic, though it's strong, resolved.
But that name there--
Hisana
--is the most important name.
It's the one name that makes you human.