Sometimes, it was a little frightening for Kagome when she took her photographs from their box and arranged them all around her on her sugar-pink bedspread.
They were glossy and colourful, albeit a little smudged with her fingerprints. But even if years later they were faded and discoloured, she knew she would remember their faces, their voices, their laughter. She knew she would remember each moment so vividly that it seemed it happened yesterday (but it was always unnerving when 'yesterday' also meant '500 years before now'.)
Because in that moment, as she was carefully packing up her pictures and listening to her mother call her down for dinner, those people in them were not there with her. They were 500 years ago, and yet only a two minute walk away.
And most of them, quite surely, were dead in her 'now'; those people she knew so well and fought alongside reduced to nothing but earth and ash…
Sometimes, Kagome despised time for making things so difficult for her, for making her decide. It just wasn't fair, she thought, that there was no other place than death both of her worlds could be together at once.
"Kagome! It's going to get cold!"
"I'm coming, Mama!"
She snapped the box shut and slid it beneath her bed (where only Buyo would find it), and ran down the stairs with her backpack slung over her shoulder.
And it's true; no matter how much you have, there's never enough time in the world…