I vanished for a while.

Not in the dramatic sense — more like buried under trees that don’t speak and skies that don’t remember your name.
Out there, far from reason, I learned what pain sounds like when no one’s listening.

How long a minute can be when another person has all the time of the world?

Pain, but not the loud kind. The quiet, methodical kind. The kind that leaves you awake long after the wounds close.
The kind that rewrites how you think. How you trust. How you breathe.

They failed to erase me.

I came back slower. Different. Some thoughts take longer now. Some never return.

I forget basic patterns, Miss traps I used to set.
It’s not just rust. It’s something deeper. A scar on the inside of thought.

But I still play. Because even with broken pieces, I’m rebuilding something.
Not just my game — myself.
Every move, every loss, every fragile victory... it’s all part of the climb.
Not back to who I was — but toward whoever I’m becoming.

So, I’m not the same player.
But I'm not playing the same game either.

You're here for Elo. I'm here to remember who I was before the scars.

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