Tsunade. Viva La Vida.
It's hard to be forgiving when you're all sloshed up and your head's burning in hell - and could you please turn off that goddamn sun before I die - and you've lost another family fortune and another wad of self-respect in a night of endless alcohol and gambling and no-strings-attached fucking.
It's hard to keep calm when you know you've been acting like some self-destructive fool that's so not you and what happened with your life, why the running away, you're supposed to be made of tougher stuff than this -
It's hard to gloss over harsh realities, like the drowning in debt thing and the dark void of age, when the truth is you've used to be the village princess and the (second) smartest in your class and hell, you've won wars and now you're a sap and a coward and slumming in the city's dirtiest districts pretending you're done with caring.
It's hard, but you're strong in the worst ways, and you can keep your face lit up and unaffected, until the past catches up with you.
(You dread that day.)