God, I think about this all the time.
When I was up at 2 AM, coffee went cold beside me, typing words no one might ever read. Will you find these stories someday when I’m not here anymore?
These aren’t just stories, you know? They’re pieces of me.
The ugly and beautiful parts were all trapped in paragraphs I obsessed over for days.
Sometimes, I laugh thinking about you — this stranger I’ll never meet — reading a line that made me cry while writing it.
Will you get it? Will you feel what I felt?
Writers are weird that way. We leave behind these little time capsules of ourselves—no photos or videos, just raw feelings disguised as fiction.
So, if you’re reading this and I’m long gone — hey there. In this moment, despite everything, we’ve connected.
And that’s beautiful, isn’t it?