wreck

I had planned on coming back, at first. Even after the shipwreck, when I found myself washed ashore on an island that, as far as I knew, was uninhabited, I was planning on finding a way home. Burn the wreckage to signal a passing ship, perhaps--the island was thickly forested, so I had no real worry about shelter or forage. I could afford to waste time thinking about home. Even once I found the village--or rather, once they found my makeshift shelter and insisted that I come back with them--at first I still dreamed of home. They were nothing but kind to me, but even with war looming, even with everything that had happened--everything she did to me because she thought I'd let her--I missed it.

If we're being honest, I still do. But the war never touched the island, and if I managed to lure a ship here, would that change? I certainly didn't look like I'd survived a shipwreck. After they had gone to such lengths to elude the grasp of empire, would I bring empire to their doorstep? Was finding a way home worth destroying someone else's?

So I stayed. I stayed and I promised I wouldn't let myself wallow in regret and nostalgia--they had offered me a life here, and it would be rude of me to squander it by living someone else's life. We had hard times, of course--I don't think anyone fully escaped those--but it was peaceful. And I felt like I was part of something bigger than me or any one person, far more than I ever did back home.

But yes, I planned on returning, and a part of me still wishes, no matter how I try not to think about it, I'd managed to at least send a message. But I suppose no matter what you do, the past will always tempt you with the idea of closure, of what-if. And no matter what you do that will never be enough.