Can you imagine?

​Can you imagine?

No, you're not a celebrity. You're not an influencer or a writer that many people know about. In fact, you're usually on your own, waiting to be forgotten; you're tired, weak, and your little social stamina won't even allow you to maintain contact with many friends. When you're lonely or when you're worried about someone, it's either your anxiety or your fatigue that would stop you from asking about them.

There are a few people who are close to you, though. A few friends that are persistent enough to stick around taking care of you. They might have known the best part of you, that you're easygoing, you're funny and very kind. They also know the worst of you, like your severe anxiety, your low self image and your tendency to overthink. You don't want to, but sometimes you look indifferent, when you're really tired, and that's happening more often over time, even though you're still young, in your early 20s, and you can't imagine what's going to happen when you're a bit older than that.

But what hits you the hardest is the thought that one day your existence will be completely meaningless. Everyone will forget about you. The few people who know you the most, who have tasted your kindness, who have appreciated your smile, who have snuggled you from the back and kissed you on the hair, who have had intimate talks with you and loved you passionately... Everyone will expire. Everyone will eventually be gone, and that includes yourself. As nobody knows about you anymore, your identity will fade away, as well as all the fond memories you hold dear. First, you will become the only one who has those memories, and they will become stories, and then, when you're gone, the memories are gone with you.

Nothing will last. And even, even if you figure out a way to extend your youth, your life and your memories to next to forever... the memories will become no more than a fairy tale in your head. Then, why, why are you even trying? You might often think of that, and feel your body sinking deeper into sadness.

That is why we have social media. Through the internet, we live forever. When tens of thousands of this passage is copied through the wires and signals, it creates snapshots of the girl who is sitting in an empty room typing this passage out. That's how it works. I might die young, but my messages will be out there for another hundreds of years. Hmmmm. Satisfying.