Oh, to be transported into the past.

Perhaps on a magical, smoggy, bumpy machine.

In a faraway land of the familiar, where my world was much smaller and my pleasures much simpler.

I remember the nights dedicated to rurouni kenshin, and the summers passed with a hot laptop whirring on my thighs, as i clenched the bedcovers and popped my eyes at what was then the only thing that mattered.

Kenshin, the quiet warrior of a bloody past, the wandering samurai of a new-found dedication to do good. I remember that one special epsiode, where our battusai must flock to war, and part ways with Kaoru, an emotional good day laden with the zooming of held arms and tender hugs and myself melting into a puddle of goo, wandering that this must be the epitome of love.

Rurouni Kenshin, shading the contours of my world, showing me the beauty of quiet dignity, quieter motives, and the painful beauty of a cursed existence.

here's to remembering the intricate love story that shaped my world, years ago. long before i began my own.