RE: The Road Home Begins with Memories

A thousand cycles of reincarnation. Every struggle and every effort was like a flower I had planted with my own hands.

I watched it grow little by little, watched it sway in the morning light, as if it would bloom into the most dazzling colors the very next second.

But fate always snatched it away in that instant, cruelly turning it into nothing and scattering it into the cold river of time and space.

In the eyes of the world, all my sacrifices and all my hard work might as well never have existed.

No one cheered for me. No one cherished me. Not even the faintest trace remained.

I was like a child running through the darkness, giving it everything I had, only to be met with endless silence and emptiness.

To me, this world was like a vast, merciless theater.

The audience sat indifferently in the shadows, turning a blind eye to the suffering of the weak and sneering at my efforts.

I could only press on alone, helplessly searching for a little warmth and comfort, only to be disappointed again and again.

The abandoned souls, just like me, wandered the wilderness, forgotten by the world.

My body and mind were already shattered, yet fate still dragged me back onto that familiar, painful road.

Every step was marked by wounds, and every breath tasted bitter.

And even so

This time, I still have to ask myself:

Will you choose hope again?

Will you still choose to believe, even after being hurt a thousand times over?