[Poruku]

When I look back at the wake of these stories we call roleplay, I think of the people left behind. I think about the characters and their dreams and hopes, that intertwined with my own. Though we like to think them as little puppets, little people tossed into the world, they are more like strokes, an intent thrown on a canvas like oil paint. A bit of yellow there, a bit of green here. Or perhaps you feel more like purple, this time, letting your paintbrush run rampant on the page. And in the midst of this, you take a step back and look at the road travelled. Look at all the paint you let drip on the floor, and it's enough to fill the room. The canvas remains mostly untouched; there's a few little streaks on there, or perhaps a small version of what you had in mind. Or maybe you managed to land it all and create a coherent work of art. Others come in, adding the details to the piece, one by one filling it with color and life, making that abstract shape into a masterpiece. Or perhaps you throw the canvas away and start over again. Again, and again, trudging through the knee-deep ocean of spilled paint to grab more supplies, get together another color on another morning.

I think back about the friends I've left behind. The barely-known faces beyond the screen that were in the end nothing more than a passing acquaintance. After the curtain is drawn, and the show is over, there is nothing left there. We've all shown up to the play, and after the play, we all go home. There's nobody left on the stage, no reason to linger. Everyone has gone on to greener pastures, briefly remembering the days where there was life up there. For all the great times, laughter, and even shared hardships and joys, this sea is just too vast. For all the times our ships crossed paths, we're still just sailors, and at the end of the day we have to return to port. But well, I guess I could say the same about many others that I've shaken hands with. In the end there is always something that must connect us. Proximity being one, but perhaps not the most important, increasingly so.

I think back about the stories untold. In truth, the hopes were more painful than the pain. Remembering the little dudes we force to move with magic, I always think about what could have been just as much as what was. Just imagine how amazing things could have been if the right ingredients were present, at the right time. If things went a little differently and went on just a little longer... We fail, and we learn, and we do better next time... How many times do we have to learn before things get good? Ah, well, maybe I've reached that point, but it's at the cost of my vigor.

I miss them, honestly. The land never recovered after the great schism. The old was left in the dust, and to this day remains abandoned. I had a good thing going at the end there too... I really do miss them. Years of writing drilled a piece of myself into these little pawns, and leaving them behind is a cost I haven't yet fully paid.

Looking ahead, I see a cloud of mist where I once saw endless doors in a cacophony of incomprehensible possibility. More uncertain than ever. My life outside is one I can't complain about, yet there is something missing. And more and more I understand my place in all of this, and what the future holds. I can already see my grip had weakened, despite having more strength than before. It's slipping, yet never fully out of my grasp.

And when you step back and look at the art you left behind, what is there? So many stories, and interconnecting paths. So many forgettable moments that are forever lost like piss in the rain. So many plans and hopes that never were, leaving naught but a dull pang somewhere below the 3rd left rib. Yes, I ended up growing accustomed to it, accepting this fate. That's the nature of art as a whole, isn't it? Even more so for something so fleeting. But I guess that's life, too. Friends left behind, paths crossing and fading into the horizon. Stories untold, and hopes crushed by the wheel. Yet at the heart of it lies that gem of truth, the glistening, unpolished diamond of roleplay. Those moments that got you smiling at a computer screen, or got you moving those fingers at supersonic speeds. You can even play all of them like a cool montage in your head if you try hard enough, but I can't guarantee you'll be able to also play linkin park over it.

I guess in the end we're left with things that any human is left with. Memories, regrets, broken dreams, and those left behind. I miss those characters, I do. I miss what they meant to me, and what I shared with others. I miss you guys too, even in this very moment. I'm always missing people because of this goddamn evade meta. Each moment I wish I knew you better and managed to get just a bit closer. Maybe then it would be properly sad when we part ways.

From one roleplayer to another, I hope you find what you seek. From dust, to dust.